


Unseen Perspective

by Tendrael



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Asexual Character, Barty is a genius, Female Voldemort (Harry Potter), Gen, Morally Grey Conflict, Sane Bartemius Crouch Jr., Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Voldemort has unhip mom vibes, Voldemort likes to keep people on their toes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tendrael/pseuds/Tendrael
Summary: Not all wars are black and white, as Harry learns when the second war with Voldemort seems to be painted in nothing but shades of grey. In which Harry is confused, Tonks is overwhelmed, Barty is a genius, Snape hates everyone, Dumbledore is trying his best, and Voldemort is having the time of her life. fem!Voldemort
Relationships: Bartemius Crouch Jr. & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Delphi & Harry Potter, Delphi & Voldemort (Harry Potter), Harry Potter & Voldemort, Nymphadora Tonks & Voldemort
Comments: 83
Kudos: 146





	1. Mortal Ambivalence

“Stun the pair.” A voice hissed through the graveyard. Harry’s vision was consumed by a flash of red, and then his world faded to black.

* * *

Awareness came to him slowly, the events of the day slowly fighting their way through the disorientation that was clouding his mind. It wasn’t until he heard Wormtail’s trembling voice that everything began to snap into place.

“Bone of the ancestor, unknowingly taken, you shall renew your progeny.”

Wormtail dropped a bone into the cauldron he was tending as Harry tried to get his bearings as quickly as possible. He and Cedric had grabbed the cup together at the end of the maze, and then it portkeyed them to a graveyard, where they were ambushed. Harry tried to free himself, but he was thoroughly tied to some sort of headstone. It seemed that for all his faults as a person, Wormtail was apparently quite skilled at knotwork.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you shall revive your Master.”

Harry winced as Wormtail cut off his entire left hand into the boiling mixture within the cauldron. On the other hand, his usage of the term “Master” removed any remaining doubts he had about Voldemort’s involvement in this fiasco.

Pettigrew wiped the knife on his robes as he shakily stumbled over to where Harry had been bound. In a last-ditch effort to do  _ something _ to prevent the oncoming catastrophe, Harry tried to reason with him.

“Wormtail… Pettigrew… Peter… Please. I know that you might think that you have to do this, but you don’t. Please do the right thing.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand, Harry.” The traitor said as he dragged the knife down Harry’s forearm. “I  _ do _ have to do this, for more reasons than you could possibly imagine.”

He held a phial under the newly created wound and collected some of the blood that was trickling down Harry’s arm. Once he’d collected enough to fill it halfway, he turned around and dumped the blood into the waiting cauldron.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you shall resurrect your foe!”

The frothing mixture within turned a blinding white that lit up the entire graveyard for an instant before the cauldron exploded. For a brief second, Harry hoped that something had gone wrong, but that hope was dashed when he saw the pale, deformed figure hunched where the cauldron had once stood. Slowly, Voldemort stood up, hands roving over the newly formed body.

“How hideous.” She said with audible disappointment.

Harry’s brain froze for a moment. Whatever he expected Voldemort to do upon being resurrected, it wasn’t to remark on the appearance — or lack thereof — of her new body.

Voldemort held up her hand and a pale wand shot out of Wormtail’s robes into her waiting palm. From there, she began waving it across her body, altering her appearance through what Harry could only assume was some form of self-transfiguration.

It took several minutes, but in the end, Voldemort had transfigured her body to resemble what Harry imagined an older version of the sixteen-year-old Riddle he’d met in the Chamber would look like. The previously bald head now had wavy black hair going down just past her shoulder blades. Her skin was still pale, but lacked the unhealthy pallor it had held moments ago. Her face now had an actual nose rather than the pair of serpentine slits it had been formed with.

There were only a few differences Harry could spot between the newly transfigured Voldemort and the spectre he had fought in the Chamber. For one, Voldemort was slightly taller — because apparently Riddle wasn’t done growing even at six feet. She lacked the visible youthfulness she’d had at sixteen, with just the hint of age visible. The final difference was the one thing that Voldemort hadn’t changed at all when transfiguring herself. When she was younger, her eyes had been a dark brown, but now they had an unnatural redness to them.

Voldemort was apparently satisfied with her new form, though, so she nodded to herself and conjured a plain robe over her body. Her eyes locked with Harry’s, and in that moment, he was certain that he was about to die in an incredibly painful and humiliating way.

“Harry Potter.” She said slowly. “It has been some time. Three years have passed, and what years they were.”

Oh God, she was gloating. If she was going to kill him, couldn’t she just do the humane thing and put him out of his misery?

Voldemort stared at him for a moment longer, her expression neutral the whole time. “You know, if you’d not opposed me when I was trying to obtain the Stone at our last meeting, this would have been a lot less painstaking for me.”

“I wasn’t about to hand you the key to your resurrection!” Harry shouted with as much righteous fury as he could muster. He may have been moments away from dying, but he was at least going to keep as much of his dignity as he could manage before that happened.

Cedric groaned from where he was lying on the ground, prompting Voldemort to shoot another stunner at him. “And yet here I am, freshly reincarnated. Your opposition three years ago merely delayed the inevitable.”

“Master, should you not summon the others?” Wormtail simpered. “Surely, they will have noticed the mark's return.”

“There will be time for that in a moment. In the meantime, we need to take care of our… guests.” She said, sparing a glance at him. “Give me your arm. I cannot have you bleeding out while you still remain useful to me.”

He held up his bloody stump, upon which she grew a strange, silvery hand that moved as though it were real. “Oh, thank you, Master. Thank you-”

" _ Please _ don't start grovelling." She said as she turned her attention back to Harry. "I'll have to deal with enough of that from the other Death Eaters."

Wormtail nodded and did his best to assume a dignified pose, which was less than successful.

“You know, it was incredibly hard to get my hands on your blood.” Voldemort continued. “I could have done it eventually, of course, but Barty came up with this absolutely splendid plan of entering you in the tournament. It was convoluted, but I don’t think the man has ever come up with a good plan that wasn’t. I’m not sure exactly what ritual your mother used that night I tried to kill you, but it was targeted specifically at me, designed to banish me from whatever form I assume. If not for the… precautions I’d taken, I would have been killed by that protection twice over.” She held up her hand between them. “But by using your blood in my resurrection ritual, by getting your blood flowing through my veins, I have nullified that protection.”

She pressed her finger into Harry’s cheek, and his scar was overcome with horrible pressure, like his forehead was trying to split itself open. Harry was about to abandon his dignity and start screaming when the pain suddenly stopped. As his vision slowly came back into focus and his brain continued to reel from the pain, he saw that Voldemort’s gaze was fixed on his forehead.

“You know,” She said quietly, “Contrary to what you might believe, I have no desire to kill you — not anymore, at least. As far as I am concerned, the prophecy between us is already fulfilled.”

Prophecy? There was a prophecy? Why was this the first he was hearing about it?

“After all, you did ‘vanquish’ me that Halloween night thirteen years ago. Don’t misunderstand me — I could very easily kill you if I desired to. I just have no desire to do so.”

The rage and fear and defiance all drain from Harry in an instant. Voldemort…  _ didn’t _ want him dead? She had tried to kill him as a baby, in his first year, his second year, then she had forced him to participate in a deadly tournament against his will, and now that she had him bound and helpless in front of her, she was just… giving up?

As if sensing his thoughts, she pointed her wand at him. Rather than torture him or kill him, though, she instead shot a healing spell at the still-bleeding gouge on his forearm. “If anything, I’d say I have a vested interest in keeping you alive. I do hate to see potential wasted, and you are nothing if not full of potential. It would be a shame to have to kill you.”

Was… was that a  _ compliment _ ? 

Harry was still reeling slightly from the pain he’d sustained in the maze followed by that in his scar. All of the revelations Voldemort had been foisting on him were making it hard for him to believe that this was real, that  _ anything  _ he’d experienced was real. “What… what do you want?” Harry croaked, his voice hoarse.

Voldemort’s gaze turned calculating. “I don’t suppose you would be interested in an apprenticeship? I have witnessed some of your skills personally, and heard of many more testaments to your ability from Barty and Peter. I was greatly impressed by your parents, and if what I’ve seen and heard is true, then you have greater potential than either of them did. Under my tutelage, you could become one of the greatest mages in the world.”

“I'll  _ never _ join you.” Harry spat with as much vehemence as he could muster, which at the moment, wasn’t much.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, but kept her face otherwise neutral. “I'm not asking you to become a Death Eater — I'm asking you to become my apprentice. Surely you can understand what an honour it is for a witch as accomplished as myself to offer you such a position.”

“I refuse.” Harry said, the surrealness of the whole situation continuing to wear on him. How the hell was Voldemort able to keep herself so calm and stoic? “I  _ won't _ join you, I  _ won't _ work with you, and I  _ sure as hell _ will  _ never _ let you train me!”

Voldemort pursed her lips into a small frown. “Such a pity.” She raised her wand at him and immobilised his body before cutting the ropes binding him to the headstone. “Well, I'm unlikely to be taking on many apprentices any time soon, so if you change your mind, the offer will remain open. In the meantime, I'll send you back to Hogwarts before they manage to track the portkey.”

She turned her wand to Cedric and cast a pure white spell that Harry recognised as an  _ obliviate _ .

“You get to keep your memories. I'd like you to be able to consider my offer of an apprenticeship, and almost no one will believe you about my return, anyways.”

Harry found himself dropped on top of Cedric's body.

“And if you see Barty, tell him that he did a very good job and that I am awaiting his return.”

The Triwizard cup was dropped on top of him, and the world began spinning as he left the graveyard far behind.

* * *

The portkey dumped Harry and Cedric near the award podium outside the quidditch pitch. A huge crowd was already gathered around the nearby medical tent, though that attention quickly shifted to them once their presence was noted. Harry felt like he was on the verge of hyperventilating when Dumbledore forced his way through the crowd and dispelled the immobilisation spell.

“She’s back.” Harry said, the words feeling distant and emotionless. “Voldemort’s back.”

Dumbledore immediately began asking questions, each of which Harry answered, his body feeling like it was moving on autopilot the whole time. Yes, she really had returned. No, she didn’t hurt him. Yes, Pettigrew was there. No, he hadn’t managed to escape. Yes, Voldemort let him go on her own. No, he didn’t know why.

“The boy’s clearly delusional, Dumbledore.” Fudge said while gesturing wildly. “You can’t honestly believe this trite story about she-who-must-not-be-named returning from the dead, can you?”

“I believe that it is a serious claim that must be investigated thoroughly.” Dumbledore replied calmly. At that point, Moody came over and joined the debate, which continued in hushed tones that Harry couldn’t make out. Eventually, Moody gestured towards Harry and whispered something in Dumbledore’s ear. Dumbledore nodded, and Moody made his way over to Harry.

“Come on, son. We’d best get you to the hospital wing.” He said, patting Harry on the back. “I’ll escort you there.”

Harry blinked a few times. “Isn’t Madam Pomfrey in the medical tent, though?”

Moody nodded. “Aye, she is, but you’re clearly having some sort of shock. Right now, the best thing we can do for you is get you away from the crowds, crowds which are currently swarming all over the medical tent. Understand?”

Harry nodded back. That did make sense. Just the idea of getting away from the crowds was already helping him feel better.

Once they were inside the halls of Hogwarts, Moody spoke up. “I don’t want to push you, lad, but if Voldemort really has returned, then we need to know as many details as possible as soon as possible. You said that she didn’t hurt you. Did she say why?”

He did his best to remember what Voldemort had said to him — it felt like it had taken place weeks ago instead of mere minutes. “She said that… the prophecy between us had been fulfilled. That she had no reason to want me dead anymore. Sir, did you know that there was a prophecy?”

“I did, aye, but I don’t think anyone but Albus knows the whole thing. He played his cards very close to his chest at the end of the war, and not without good reason. There were spies everywhere, and one never really knew who could be trusted and who might be listening.” Moody’s artificial eye began rotating faster, as if spurred on by his thoughts of paranoia. “So what happened then?”

Harry shrugged. “She obliviated Cedric and then she just… sent us back. She said no one would believe me, so there was no point in erasing my memories.”

“This plan was right clever of her.” Moody explained. “It was a kidnapping disguised as an elaborate assassination attempt, with several months to slander your reputation in the eyes of the public. I don’t suppose she gave you any clues on the identity of her inside man? Voldemort didn’t have a body, and there’s no way Pettigrew could have managed to get you entered in the tournament on his own — the man doesn’t have the right skillset.”

“She mentioned… Barty? She said that the whole plan was Barty’s idea, and that I should tell him that he did a good job if I see him.”

Moody paused for a second. “Bah! Figures that Crouch is at the heart of this. I have never met a man who adheres so strictly to the law while bending it so freely. He suddenly starts taking sick leave for the first time in his whole career, then he just pulls that vanishing act after showing up in the forest? No, that bastard’s been up to something, and I’d wager that he’s at the heart of this whole mess.”

Moody stopped walking as they reached the hospital wing doors.

“Listen, Potter, I have some business to take care of back in my quarters, then I’ll be performing a sweep of the grounds to make sure that we don’t have any unwelcome intruders. I trust you can find your own bed — Dumbledore will probably want to speak with you shortly.” With that, he hobbled away, leaving Harry alone in the corridor.

* * *

"This is nonsense and I won't hear of it!" Fudge shouted before storming out of the hospital wing. He all but hurled Harry's share of the winnings at his bed before slamming the doors shut behind him.

"Well that could have gone better." Dumbledore lamented. "I fear we'll have no help from Cornelius's front."

Sirius changed back into a human as soon as the doors shut. "I can't say I'm surprised, given how he treated Harry's proclamations of my innocence last year."

"I had hoped Cornelius would see reason, under the circumstances…" Dumbledore said softly.

"Cornelius and reason don't go together." Sirius replied. "It was a fool's errand to even try."

“It’s a shame Voldemort had the sense to obliviate Cedric. He may have been unconscious for most of the ordeal, but we may have been able to glean  _ something _ that could help us convince Cornelius.”

Whatever debate would have followed that remark was cut off as the doors were opened again, and Sirius shifted back to his canine form.

“Honestly, the nerve of those people!” Mrs. Weasley said as she bustled into the hospital wing with her family in tow. “Those boys have been through an ordeal, and yet the press is hovering around them like vultures!” She made a move towards Harry when Pomfrey stepped in her way.

“The boy is in _ shock _ , Molly! I know you mean well, but for now, he just needs to rest.” With that, Madame Pomfrey waved her wand, shutting the curtains around Harry’s bed and blocking out the noise from the rest of the hospital wing.

So Harry was in shock, then? He supposed that wasn’t too surprising. He felt like he was controlling someone else’s body while experiencing everything through a filter. It was like the end of a fight, but moreso, when the adrenaline wore off and all of the energy just drained away. It was just…  _ everything _ was overwhelming. He was exhausted from the maze and the tournament in general, and then he was kidnapped on top of that… Not to mention that Voldemort herself had been fundamentally  _ baffling _ . She had been after him for his whole life, and now she just… didn't seem to care.

Harry thought back on his previous experiences with her. Back in his first year, she only ordered Quirrell to attack him after Harry refused to hand over the Stone. At the time, he honestly believed she was leading him on with her offer to work together, waiting to kill him at the first chance she got, but now…? She had held him at her absolute mercy, and she just let him go. This year, she was obviously involved in entering him into the tournament, but her plan was reliant on him  _ winning _ the competition. He supposed it was technically a compliment that she was willing to bank her resurrection on him winning an international tournament against several of-age people.

The only time she had honestly tried to kill him was in the Chamber back in second year, and now that he considered it, that wasn't even technically Voldemort. It was some… adolescent version of her preserved in a diary, so it stood to reason that she never got the memo that her adult self didn't have a quarrel with Harry.

This was all too strange to deal with now. He'd have more time to think it over tomorrow.

* * *

It was late when the man approached the manor, so late that it had practically looped around to being early again. The light from the rising sun was just starting to peek over the horizon as the man trudged through the dew-covered grass and barged through the doors without knocking. He'd have plenty of time to deal with pleasantries later, but for now, he was tired. He'd had an exceptionally late night and an exceptionally busy year, and he was honestly ready to just sit down and rest for a while.

He'd normally feel worse about entering without knocking, but he really did not care for the manor's owner, and he honestly didn't think anyone would be awake to answer him anyways.

Therefore, it was much to his surprise that, upon entering the kitchen for a pre-bedtime snack, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted him.

"I'm glad to see you made it back, Barty. I trust your mission was successful?" She asked before shoving a chocolate covered strawberry into her mouth.

Barty Crouch Jr. gave a short bow. "My Lady."

"We're in private, Barty. There is no need for such formalities here." She said as she followed the strawberry with a devilled egg.

He nodded. "As you wish. It took hours to do, but I was able to obliviate all of Moody's memories of being locked in a trunk and replace them with my own memories from throughout the year. I successfully pinned the blame of 'Barty' being your inside man onto my deceased father. No one is any the wiser to the role I played in Hogwarts this year."

She nodded in response before her attention went back to a plate of assorted foods. "Very good — you played your part well this year. What of Harry Potter? Was he doing well when you left?"

Barty shrugged. "As well as can be expected. I think the boy was suffering from some sort of psychological shock, no doubt from the revelations you foisted upon him."

Voldemort finished eating a cracker covered in some kind of paté and leisurely licked her fingers clean. "It's hardly my fault that the boy was convinced that my being out to kill him was a fundamental facet of his life. I suppose I failed to make a good impression three years ago, but I was rather desperate at the time and he  _ did _ get in my way. If anything, I'd say that I'm actively invested in his survival after tonight."

Barty raised an eyebrow. "Really? I mean, sure the boy has potential and all, but…"

Voldemort tilted her head back and dropped a piece of lox into her mouth. "But nothing, Barty.” She said in between chews. “I have information that you do not. The boy declined the opportunity to be my apprentice, but I am sure I can manage to convince him with a little bit of persistence and creativity on my part."

"How do you plan to find him, though? I mean, many of the Death Eaters have been trying for years, and none of them have had any luck. Sure, you're far more skilled than the average Death Eater, but…"

She stuck her right arm out as her left arm shoved a small pastry into her mouth. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken."

"Oh… blood trackers…" He nodded in understanding. It wouldn't be exact, since her body was made by mixing several components from different sources, conjoined with her own magical signature, but it should be enough to pin down his general location in the country.

"Exactly." She said as she tore off a chunk of dried meat and began chewing on it, at which point Barty's curiosity finally won out.

"Voldemort… is there a reason why you are currently raiding Lucius's kitchen at four in the morning?"

She swallowed the chunk of meat and sighed. "I'm indulging in a bit of hedonism, if you must know. I spent over a decade as a wraith and the better part of a year in a homunculus body that subsisted solely on snake venom. Now that I have an actual, functional body, I am realising just how much I missed food. Besides which, Lucius keeps a very well-stocked pantry. It’s half the reason I decided to come to Malfoy manor as opposed to using one of my own safehouses."

Barty chuckled. "Of all the seven deadly sins I expected you to partake in, gluttony was low on the list."

Voldemort rolled her eyes. "Please. We both know that if such a list truly existed, lust would be on the very bottom."

"Much to my dismay."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Barty, while my ego of course appreciates your interest in me, as your friend and mentor, I feel I should discourage you from attempting to pursue a relationship with a woman who is not only thirty five years your senior, but  _ fundamentally disinterested _ in romance of any kind."

Barty stuck his hands in his pockets, doing his best to look cool in the face of certain rejection. "Let a man dream, Voldie."

She took a long sip from a fruity drink instead of giving him an immediate answer. Barty didn't dare get his hopes up, of course — there wasn't a chance she would say yes. When she finally set the glass back down on the counter, her exasperated tone was all the answer he needed.

"Ensure that they stay in your dreams, Barty, and I'll let it slide."

That's about what he expected her to say.

"Besides, even if I  _ was _ interested in a relationship, which I can assure you that I never will be, then I would certainly not want to pursue it now. The form that the resurrection ritual gave me was… hideous. I'm only maintaining this appearance through extensive and repeated self-transfiguration."

"That's… got to be taxing." Barty commented.

"It is. I fear that I am not prepared for a full fight just yet, as I would be forced to choose between fighting at my full power and feeling comfortable in my own skin while doing so. Finding a way to induce a permanent change to my body should be a priority."

Barty nodded pensively. "Well, Rookwood  _ might _ know something, being an unspeakable, but he's in Azkaban, which I'm assuming you'd rather not raid until this is all sorted out."

She nodded in confirmation.

"Well, the only other option I can think of would be to create a ritual that turns one into a metamorph, but ritual creation is a whole other type of mess…”

"I believe that our best course of action may be to obtain a Philosopher's Stone." She said, as if she didn't realise the absurdity of what she was saying.

"Voldemort…" Barty said slowly. "The Flamels are dead and their stone was destroyed."

She laughed at that. "Oh Barty, I know you're smarter than that. The Philosopher's Stone is able to permanently change one's form through the marvel of catalysed bioalchemy, and you honestly believe that the Flamels died rather than fake their own death and assume new identities? Besides which, even if they  _ are _ dead, they're far from the only alchemists in the world. They aren't the only people who created a stone — they're just the only people who  _ advertised _ that they did so. Most people are smart enough not to paint a target on their back by announcing that they have a device that grants eternal youth, eternal life, and eternal wealth, among other marvels."

That… made quite a lot of sense, actually. Barty kind of felt foolish for not considering it earlier. "So… what's the plan?"

Voldemort grinned that grin that she got exclusively when she was about to jump into an intensive study of magic. "We're going to learn alchemy, Barty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N (Tendra):** Yes, I am starting a new fic. Don’t judge me. After publishing the last DftD chapter, I couldn’t motivate myself to work on either of my other two fics, especially not when the idea for this one started developing. I have no idea how often I’ll be working on this one, though.
> 
> This fic’s basic premise is inspired by Limpieza de Sangre, in that it is a fem!Voldemort fic starting at the graveyard in which a sane Voldemort has decided that the prophecy is no longer a factor. Things will be wildly different from there, with the entire war presented as a much more morally grey thing in which all sides have their virtues and vices. I like the idea of fem!Voldemort a lot, and while f!TMR/HP is my OTP, this fic is devoted to exploring a solely mentor/student dynamic between the two.
> 
> Also… THIS IS NOT AN AU TO DEPARTURE FROM THE DIARY. It is its own fic with its own fem!Voldemort, who is very much a separate person from Tamelyn.
> 
>  **E/N (Xgenje):** So I am beta reading this after suffering a Heat stroke. So if there are still any major typos/issues, I’m sorry.
> 
>  **E/N (Felix):** I’m beta-reading after getting my brain fried from studying. Ditto.
> 
>  **E/N (Foadar):** I keep drawing parallels to Star Wars, and I will do it again. Though I do not know if Harry himself will be drawn into darkness, I kinda hope he will be, as a tragic story development. Apprentice!Harry, I support thee :P The rest of the idea is solid, if in need of further development with more writing.


	2. Obfuscating Revelations

“Rise, Severus,” Voldemort said from atop the obnoxiously flashy throne she’d set up in Lucius’s drawing room. It was an excessively ostentatious show of power, but it drove Lucius crazy and Barty found it hilarious, so she kept it. “Tell me of Dumbledore’s reaction to my resurrection.”

Voldemort was intrigued by what this meeting would reveal. Severus was a spy, though, at this point, she was not sure  _ whose _ spy he was. On the one hand, she had taken him in as her apprentice. She had taught him the marvels of dark arts and helped cultivate his intrinsic genius.

On the other hand, Severus had truly cared about Lily, whom she had murdered. It wasn’t inconceivable that Severus would turn traitor if he thought it would keep her safe. Dumbledore had also testified on Severus’s behalf in the Death Eater trials following her defeat, claiming that he had spied on her throughout the war, a fact that she knew to be untrue. Then there was the fact that he had interfered with her attempts to obtain the Philosopher’s Stone three years ago, which was a severe setback to her plans. Lastly, there was the fact that Dumbledore gave the man an extreme amount of leeway with regards to his reprehensible behaviour towards students, which implied that Dumbledore saw Severus as indispensable in some way.

The odds were definitely against Severus still being loyal to her. Normally, she’d consider killing someone for turning traitor, but if he  _ was _ a spy for the Order, then she could use him to spread misinformation among her opponents — far too valuable an opportunity to pass up.

“His reaction is exactly as I would have expected.” Severus began. “He is working on gathering allies for the fight against you, though his rapidly waning political power is making that a difficult task. Potter has been shunted back to his relatives’ house under the protection of the blood wards there. Unfortunately, its whereabouts have been consistently held from me, no doubt due to concerns about that information finding its way into your hands. Dumbledore has also reassembled the Order of the Phoenix, using some of the Old Guard plus some new members. That mutt, Sirius Black, has volunteered his ancestral family townhome. The entire location has already been placed under Fidelius.”

Voldemort sighed wistfully. "Ah, the Fidelius… How like Dumbledore. I don't suppose it's an easily breakable Fidelius?" There were, of course, ways to nullify the Fidelius charm. She herself had broken the Fidelius on the Potters’ cottage in Godric's Hollow after killing off James and Lily, as the secret hidden by the charm specifically referenced that the abode was being used as the “Potter family's hiding place”. In killing off James and Lily, she had broken the Fidelius by rendering the information it was hiding untrue — after all, Harry on his own didn't count as a "family".

The problem with breaking a Fidelius was that it was basically impossible to do unless one knew the secret in the first place. After all, how can one render a statement untrue if they don't even know what the statement  _ is _ ? It was an interesting quirk of the magic, but the weakness was far too impractical to exploit in a vast majority of circumstances.

"It is not," Severus confirmed. That wasn't surprising. After Voldemort had figured out how to break the Fideliuses on a few of his safehouses, usually by destroying nearby landmarks, Dumbledore had taken to using the charm to locations using secrets which were not so easily nullified. For all his faults, the man did learn from his mistakes… most of the time. Either way, from what she  _ could _ remember, the Black townhouse was in London, which was too dense to easily break a Fidelius in the first place.

"That's a pity." It really wasn't, but she sure wasn't about to tell Severus that until she knew where his loyalties lay. The Order could do as they pleased for now. Back in the last war, they were almost always focused on counterattacks, and only went on the offensive when Sirius Black or Lily Potter was in charge of a mission. Lily was dead, and Sirius couldn’t show his face in public, which severely neutered the Order’s capabilities. "Who all has joined the Order this time around?"

“The Weasleys,” Severus said with a sneer, “Black, Moody, Diggle, Vance, Jones, Podmore, Doge, McGonagall, and Hagrid. The three new members are a lowlife named Mundungus Fletcher, and two Aurors, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.”

Most of those names weren’t surprising. Voldemort would have to ask some of her connections about Fletcher, as she’d never heard of him. Nymphadora, though… Nymphadora, she knew. She was Bella’s niece, and made quite the impression in Quirrell’s classes. The fact that she was able to make Auror only three years after graduating spoke to her already impressive skill. Voldemort would have to keep an eye on her — she was always looking to recruit those of extreme talent.

“Very well then. Keep me informed of their actions, especially those of Mister Potter and Miss Tonks. Speaking of Mister Potter… What can you tell me about him? Please be as thorough as possible.”

The vehemence dripping from Severus’s voice as he spoke of Potter was palpable. “He is a spoiled, arrogant brat. He thinks himself above the rules, above consequences, and above others. If not for the fact that I doubt he has the skill to have pulled it off, I would have suspected that he  _ did _ enter himself into the tournament in an attempt to garner more attention.”

And so on Severus went, complaining about every little detail while Voldemort considered what he was saying. What he was saying was so… outlandishly different from what she’d witnessed of the boy that she was certain that he had to be lying. Severus  _ could _ be projecting his hatred of James Potter onto the boy, but the vehemence he was showing now went far beyond the hatred he’d held for James. 

The other possibility… was that he was lying to her face, painting an unsavoury picture of the boy so that she’d either lose interest in him or critically underestimate him.

Well, Severus was truly lost to her, then. Even if he hadn’t turned traitor to Dumbledore’s side, she wasn’t about to trust the reports of a spy who couldn’t contain his biases.

“My Lady…” Severus asked once he had finished his report, “Potter is saying that you let him go and that you have declared your feud with him over. Is that true? Are you really prepared to let the boy go?”

Well there was no way she was giving him a direct answer to that. If she told him that she wasn’t interested in killing Harry and he  _ had  _ turned traitor, then that might lead to the Order discovering that he was one of her horcruxes, resulting in his death. She’d rather not have him die, nor have her horcrux destroyed. On the other hand, if she said that she was still interested in killing him, then it was highly likely that Harry would be squirrelled away to the fideliused Order headquarters, removing her window for trying to sway him over the summer. Giving a definitive answer either way would be bad for her, and bad for Harry.

"I say many things, Severus. Whether or not you believe them is up to you." It was a bit harsh of her to allude to her broken promise to save Lily Potter, but she wasn’t sure that there was anything left to lose between the two of them. Such a pity… She’d always been fond of Severus, as she had been of all of her apprentices.   


Severus dismissed himself soon after, leaving her alone on her throne. It was a lot sillier to be sitting on an ostentatious throne in a room by oneself than it was to be doing so when addressing an underling. Voldemort hopped down from her seat and set off to see how Barty was progressing in his attempts to gather alchemy texts. Once that was done, maybe she’d check in on some of her other tasks for the summer… after she’d obtained some snacks, of course.

* * *

This summer was turning out to be hot — one of the hottest on record, if the reports on the telly were to be believed. Harry didn’t think that he’d ever had to deal with such painfully high temperatures before. On the bright side, Vernon and Petunia were no longer forcing him to do most of the chores, so Harry was free to spend most of the day out of the house, away from their company.

His more cynical side was convinced that they were only letting him off easy in some vain hope that he’d suffer from heatstroke while outside. Either that, or they were finally realising that he would soon be an adult wizard who could do whatever he wanted to them without fear of repercussions.

Whichever it was, Harry was free to spend his summers on his own. He’d changed some of the money from his trust vault into muggle money two years ago when he spent those few weeks at Diagon Alley, so he was able to buy his own lunches, further avoiding the Dursleys’ company.

It was bad that, despite Voldemort returning, this had been one of the best summers he’d had so far. Harry was currently wandering through the local park, looking for a bench far away from most of the crowds. He eventually managed to find one near a copse of trees, so he promptly sat down and closed his eyes.

“Knut for your thoughts, Harry.” A voice said from behind him.

He whirled around, eyes opening wide in fear, as he recognised Voldemort’s voice. “What are you…? Why…? How…?” He pointed his wand at her, though she didn’t seem to feel at all threatened by the action.

Instead, she sat down on the bench next to him and leaned back. “I was bored and you were easy to find.”

It was bizarre, seeing her in a muggle park. If it wasn’t for the red eyes, she wouldn’t have stood out at all. She was wearing a surprisingly modern outfit consisting of a plain white blouse and black slacks and dress shoes, like the kind of clothing one would get in a high-end muggle clothing store. The mere thought of Voldemort shopping for clothes in a muggle store was so… jarring that Harry didn’t even know where to begin.

He was also extremely alarmed that he was apparently “easy to find”, especially by Voldemort, of all people. He wasn’t even going to address the fact that her reaction to boredom had been to track him down. “How? There are blood protections here, and they should have stopped you…”

Voldemort leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “There are two problems with that. For one, those wards are keyed to stop anyone with hostile intent, which I don’t have. Secondly, while they are also designed to specifically stop me, I used your blood when I resurrected myself, meaning that aspect of the protections  _ cannot _ target me. If it was only one or the other, I wouldn’t be able to get to you, but since they’re both true, I am free to bother you as much as I like.”

Harry regarded her cautiously. It was bizarre seeing Voldemort like this, eyes closed and lounging on a park bench as though her guard was down. Harry doubted that her guard was  _ actually _ down, as there was no way that she would be foolish enough to do when he had his wand drawn at her.

Slowly, Harry let the tension leave his body. He didn’t dare let his wand leave his hand, but he at least stopped pointing it at her. Eventually, curiosity won out over cautiousness, so he decided to listen to what she had to say… for now.

“So, you’re still insisting that you don’t want to kill me?” He asked, still not totally believing it despite the circumstances. He didn’t know if he’d believe  _ anything _ coming from her.

“Of course I don’t want to kill you.” She said without moving from her current pose. “As I said back in the graveyard, the prophecy between us is fulfilled. You vanquished me, after all. Luckily for me, vanquishing is not the same as killing. I wish I’d realised that earlier…”

“What is this about a prophecy, then? The first time I ever heard about a prophecy between us was when you mentioned it in the graveyard.”

Voldemort opened her eyes, a faint flicker of surprise visible on her face. “‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lady approaches, born to those who have thrice defied her, born as the seventh month dies.’ There’s more to it, of course, but that’s all I know. Learning the rest is a low priority, as I have no reason to suspect that it hasn’t already been fulfilled.”

It was a bit annoying that the first he’d heard of this supposed prophecy was coming from Voldemort’s mouth, rather than Professor Dumbledore’s. “I still can’t believe that this is the first I’m hearing of this. Does anyone know about it besides you?”

She shrugged. “As far as I know, Dumbledore is the only one to know the whole thing.” Right, Harry vaguely remembered Moody saying something to that effect after the graveyard. His memories of what happened afterwards were very fuzzy, though. “I can’t imagine why he didn’t tell you, though. I mean, sure, it’s technically classified information, but I’d expect him to tell you the part of the prophecy that I know, or at least inform you that one exists.”

Harry was able to recognise that that was an attempt to shake his faith in Professor Dumbledore. Unfortunately, merely recognising it didn’t stop it from having an effect on him. Why  _ hadn’t _ Professor Dumbledore told him about the prophecy?

Well, if Voldemort was going to spend her time trying to sway him, then he could at least try and get some more information out of her.

“So what have you been doing?” Harry asked in what was possibly  _ the worst  _ attempt at fishing for information that anyone had ever attempted in the history of everything, ever.

However poor his attempt was, Voldemort actually answered his question. “Right now? I’ve been laying low. The Ministry believes me dead, and I have no desire to correct that misconception so long as it remains useful to me. I can use this time to gather resources and allies. Also, less time spent on the field means more time to research, which has always been my true passion.”

An actual smile graces her face at the mention of research, the first time Harry had seen her express anything more than the barest hint of emotion.

“Besides, the current situation is working out in my favour.” She explains, the smile vanishing as she continues her explanation. “The Ministry is staunchly refusing to admit my return, and Dumbledore’s insistence on pushing the issue has resulted in him losing a lot of his political capital.”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, “He has?”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you been reading the paper?”

He shook his head. “I get a weekly issue of the Prophet at school, but Sirius convinced me that it would be a bad idea to get public owl post sent to my address.” Which was a reasonable precaution, under the circumstances. Of course, that precaution was rendered moot by the fact that he was currently having a conversation with  _ Lady fucking Voldemort _ herself.

“Ah, well, the Daily Prophet has been running a smear campaign against him, painting him as an old man who’s losing touch with the world. Unfortunately, you’ve been caught up in some of those smear campaigns, too. I’ve had Lucius work on mitigating the focus on you, but the man’s influence isn’t infinite, and Cornelius is quite put out with you.”

Harry groaned. “Great, another year in which I get to be smeared by the media.” It would have been nice to have another year where most of his classmates weren’t ostracising him.

“To be fair, I did warn you that no one would believe you if you told them about my return.” Voldemort said. “People don’t want to believe that I’ve returned, and so long as I keep a low profile, they won’t. It’s part of the reason I let you keep your memories — it was a win-win scenario for me. Either you didn’t tell anyone, in which case I would be free to ready myself for the upcoming war without any interference from anyone, or you tell Dumbledore, in which case I can perform a smear campaign against Dumbledore at the mere cost of having to deal with some pesky members of his Order.”

Much as he was annoyed at how it had affected him, personally, he had to admit that it was a pretty brilliant plan. Also, Professor Dumbledore had an Order? That was news to Harry. “So that’s why you let me keep my memories? Because no matter what I did, it would benefit you?”

“Well, there was always the chance that Dumbledore  _ wouldn’t _ try and persuade the Minister, but I considered that to be an unlikely outcome based on my knowledge of the man — knowledge that turned out to predict his actions perfectly. That said, the other reason that I let you keep your memories is because I was honest about wanting to take you on as an apprentice. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered?” Voldemort asked the last part with an inquisitive gaze.

“My answer is still  _ no _ .” Harry replied forcefully. Even if this entire thing wasn’t some sort of elaborate ruse — a possibility he wouldn’t dismiss, he knew Voldemort was a master manipulator — then he was still hesitant to be taught by the woman who murdered his parents, among other issues.

“Why, if I may ask?” Her gaze was still locked on him. “Why are you refusing my offer? Be completely honest.”

“Because, even if I was willing to look past the fact that you killed my parents — which I’m not — then I would still have no desire to be taught by someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” Voldemort repeated, her voice taking on a low tone. “What do you mean by that?”

Harry felt the previously diminishing tension return. “A blood purist, a terrorist, a murderer,” He said, trying to keep his voice even, “Someone who uses fear to get what they want.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Voldemort replied, leaning back on the bench once more. “It seems that you’ve bought into all the common propaganda over my movement. Would you like to know something, Harry?”

Harry was not sure if he  _ would _ like to know whatever she was about to dump on him, but he didn’t get a chance to refuse.

“The only reason that I am known as a terrorist instead of a revolutionary is because I lost, and history is written by the victors. I won’t be losing this war, I’ll have you know. You are literally the only reason I lost the last time around, and now that there is no longer a prophecy at play, there is no ‘deus ex machina’ to stop me.”

“Is that why you want me to be your apprentice, then?” Harry asked. “You want to make sure that I’m on your side of the war since I stopped you last time?”

Voldemort laughed. “Harry, I would want to recruit you regardless of your role in my vanquishing. Your parents were some of the best fighters in the Order of the Phoenix, and the two were an unstoppable pair in combat. Your mother was a master of offence and your father was a master of defence. I offered each of them an apprenticeship on multiple occasions, and I was incredibly disheartened when it became clear that I would have to kill them. They are the only people who ever bested me in fair combat — even Dumbledore was only able to fight me to a standstill. It was their extreme skill that led me to believe that you were the one spoken of in the prophecy, as anyone who inherited even a portion of their combined power would be stronger than me. I would be a fool to pass up on the opportunity to cultivate one as strong as yourself.”

This was the first time Harry had ever heard anyone talk about his parents’ role in the war against Voldemort. He knew that they fought her, but to hear that they almost beat her? He also had no idea that they were so outrageously powerful, as most people didn’t speak extensively about their skill in magic. “If you respected my parents so much, then why didn’t you try and recruit them?” He asked.

Voldemort just laughed. “It wasn’t for a lack of trying, believe me. Alas, they were firmly in Dumbledore’s pocket and weren’t willing to hear me out on any of the occasions I approached them. I was at least able to get Peter and Severus from their respective friend groups, though. Unfortunately, Severus is antisocial and more suited to inventing than combat, and Peter lacks the stomach for outright confrontation and is best suited for espionage. I never got any of the most combat-savvy members of their age group.”

Seve-wait, Snape!? Dumbledore was convinced that Snape had betrayed Voldemort, but here she was, talking about him as though he was still on her side. Surely  _ she _ wouldn’t believe that Snape was on her side, especially not after Dumbledore had publicly testified for him. Unless… Snape  _ hadn’t _ turned traitor?

“What… What does Snape do for the Death Eaters, anyways?” Harry asked, hoping she wouldn’t catch on.

“Oh, Snape is my spy in the Order of the Phoenix. He keeps me up to date on everything that Dumbledore and the others get up to.”

Harry wasn’t sure if Voldemort was trying to mislead him or if she was being genuinely upfront with Snape’s role in her circle. Either way, he had gained a whole new distrust for his potions teacher.

Voldemort stood up and stretched. “Well, this was a good talk, Harry. Alas, I have other business I need to attend to. Also, the Confundus charm I cast on your guard is about to wear off.”

Wait, Harry had a guard? Before he could ask for further details about that Voldemort lashed her arm out in front of her, taking a firm grip on an invisible object. Harry saw a faint shimmer in the air as she did so, like the fluttering of an invisibility cloak. Voldemort and the shimmering figure then vanished with a loud crack, leaving Harry alone in the park.

What the hell was his life turning into…?

* * *

Tonks was feeling so disoriented right now. Had she gone on some kind of bender last night after her shift? The last thing she could remember was going to keep watch on Harry, then… she had left? She didn’t remember  _ why _ she had left, but she knew that she had. She remembered the suffocating feeling of apparition, and then… nothing. As her senses slowly came back to her, she could smell salt in the air and hear the sound of waves crashing against rocks. How in Merlin’s name had she ended up by the ocean?

“Wakey wakey, Nymphadora.” A voice whispered in her ear. White-hot anger at being referred to by her  _ first _ name forced her to her senses. She pushed herself away from the figure and reached for her wand, only to find that her default wand was gone, as were her two backups.

Okay, this was definitely bad, but there was no way she’d be going down without a fight. Tonks knew a limited amount of wandless magic and she was pretty skilled in hand to hand combat, so she should still have the advantage against the average witch or wizard. “Don’t call me Nymph… a… dora…” The defiant tone died in her throat as she recognised the figure in front of her, or rather, she recognised her from a description. “Voldemort…”

“Good, you recognise me. That saves me the trouble of having to introduce myself.”

Oh gods, Tonks was moments away from dying. She was face to face with Voldemort with her back to an oceanside cliff in the middle of nowhere without a wand. There was no way she could hope to take on Voldemort  _ with _ her wand, let alone without one. Her only hope of survival was wandless apparition, but she could feel the slight tingle in the air that told her that this place was under an anti-apparition jinx. She was so,  _ so _ dead.

“I recognise you, of course.” Voldemort went on. “You made quite the impression on me back in Quirrell’s class. You were so talented, so driven. You were the best in your year, maybe one of the best Hogwarts had seen in over a decade. You went into the Auror academy straight out of Hogwarts, an achievement that was unheard of ever since Moody did the same decades earlier.” Suddenly, Voldemort was gone, vanishing from where she was standing and reappearing directly to Tonks’s right. It wasn’t apparition — it was silent, instant. She would have thought it was an illusion if she didn’t feel the woman’s power move with her. Voldemort’s tone then took on a deadly serious note (emphasis on  _ deadly _ ). “And here you are now, over three years later,  _ wasting _ your potential acting as babysitter for the boy-who-lived. Such a pity.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Tonks asked shakily.

Voldemort let out a single, wry laugh. “Please, if I wanted you dead-” She disappeared from in front of her, and the next thing Tonks knew her mouth was being covered by a hand and a wand was shoved against her throat. “-then you would already be dead. Rest assured, I have no desire to cut you down.” The hand and wand were gone as quickly as they had appeared, and Voldemort reappeared in a relaxed pose with her back to the seaside just as a spray of ocean water crashed over the rocks.

“What do you want, then?” Tonks whispered.

Voldemort vanished again, appearing right behind Tonks for the second time and whispering in her ear. “I want you to  _ stop wasting your talents! _ Your skills are wasted in the Order, and I want you to remember that every time they shunt you to some mundane guard duty.” Voldemort vanished from behind her and reappeared where she was before faster than Tonks could process. What the hell kind of skill  _ was _ that? “You are one of the best, Nymphadora. I want you to keep that, and me, in mind if you ever decide to seek… alternative employment. If you’ll excuse me, I need to be getting back to my safehouse — I have magic to research. Farewell for now, Nymphadora.” Voldemort tossed her wands in the air and loudly apparated away as soon as they left her palm.

Tonks scrambled for her wands and apparated away as soon as she had them. Then she apparated again. And again. And again. It was only after the fifth consecutive apparition that she was fairly certain she wasn’t being followed and allowed the overwhelming panic to set in. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking, and she couldn’t help but marvel in the fact that she was somehow still alive. What the hell was that even about? Alternative employment? Did Voldemort actually expect her to join the Death Eaters? That was absolutely ridiculous… right?

There was time to ponder that later. For now, Tonks needed a nice, strong coffee laced with some nice, strong booze. She’d tell the Order about it once she’d regained her composure.

…Also, she needed more wands. Two backups were clearly not enough.

* * *

“Well, my day has been quite productive.” Voldemort said as she marched into Malfoy Manor. “How has your work been coming along, Barty?”

Barty grunted into his book. It had not, in fact, been going well. He had already studied basic alchemy, enough to permanently shift an object’s form without altering its substance. Voldemort had insisted that he learn the skill, as it had proven to be incredibly useful in combat. This, though? This involved duplication, extraction, extrusion, and transmutation all in one, none of which he had studied.

It also didn’t help that no one actually  _ wrote down _ how to make a Stone. Alchemists were a secretive bunch, and despite the fact that a fair amount of people did seem to know the concept behind making them, no one really elaborated on how the process of making a Stone actually progressed. If Voldemort’s statement was correct, then it made sense — no one besides the Flamels advertised that they could make a Stone, and being able to write down the exact steps would be a good indicator that they  _ could _ make them. There were occasional examples of starting steps, and a whole lot of riddles.

Heh… Riddles. He’d tell Voldie that joke if she wouldn’t skin him for referencing her birth name.

“That well, huh?” She said sarcastically.

“I don’t know nearly enough alchemy.” He explained. “I need to basically work my way entirely to the mastery level before we can even attempt creating a stone.”

Voldemort sighed. “I was afraid of that. How long do you think that will take?”

Barty ran some estimations in his head. “Maybe… two, three weeks?”

She laughed. “Have I mentioned that I love you, Barty?”

“When you say you love me-”

“Not like that.” She deadpanned.

“So, what  _ did _ you get accomplished today?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Well, to start with I interrogated Severus a bit. Unfortunately, I believe that we truly did lose him to Dumbledore’s side the moment I killed Lily, perhaps even before that.”

“Bastard.”

Voldemort rolled her eyes. “Really, he  _ was _ infatuated with her — it’s not that surprising. After I was fairly certain that he  _ had _ betrayed us, I gave him a mix of true and false information and refused to directly answer his questions.”

Barty nodded. “Went with the old ‘imply but don’t lie technique’?”

“Of course. Lies have a tendency to come to oneself, whereas a misdirection can be blamed on the listener for ‘not understanding’.”

“What about your other tasks?”

She leaned her back against the desk on which Barty had set all of the books. “I got lucky on that front, actually. Nymphadora was keeping watch on Harry, no doubt as part of some nonsense Order duty, so I was able to speak with both of them. I confunded Nymphadora to make her think she’d gone back to her flat before grabbing her and giving a quick speech. Have I mentioned how much I miss being able to Blink? Being a wraith was awful — I had to physically move everywhere instead of just-” Voldie vanished from where she was leaned against the desk and reappeared on top of one of the adjacent bookshelves. “-go wherever I need to.”

“You know Lucius hates it when you do that inside his house.” Barty commented idly.

Voldie got an absolutely devilish grin on her face. “I know he does, but it’s not like he can stop me. There are no wards that can stop Blinking.”

“Only because you invented it yourself and have never explained how it works.” He flipped a page in one of the books. Were all alchemy texts this dry? He certainly hoped not. If they were, then it might take him four to five weeks to reach a mastery level in the field instead of his predicted two to three.

“Well that’s not true.” She said as she gracefully floated down from the top of the bookshelf using the wandless flight spell that she’d invented. Really, was it any wonder that Voldie was almost impossible to hit in a fight? The woman was an absolute menace when it came to manoeuvrability. “I  _ did _ try to teach you how to Blink, remember? It’s hardly my fault that you were never able to learn the skill.”

Barty did remember, and he was still immensely frustrated that it was one of the few skills he’d never been able to learn with any sort of ease. Or at all.

“So what all did you discuss in your ‘little chats’?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that. Harry doesn’t seem to trust me, which is sensible. I doubt he’d be worthy of recruitment if he didn’t maintain some level of wariness towards me. Luckily, Dumbledore seems to be keeping him out of the loop, so I have an in. Did you know that Dumbledore never told him about the prophecy? And I don’t mean that Harry didn’t know the exact wording, I mean he literally didn’t even know that there was a prophecy until I mentioned it to him at the graveyard.”

“No wonder the kid was in shock…” Seriously, Dumbledore’s tendency to play his cards so close to his chest was going to bite him in the arse some day. Sure, Voldemort did have spies everywhere, but Dumbledore’s desire to keep information from leaking led to him keeping all sorts of information secret even if it probably  _ shouldn’t _ be. Did he tell  _ anyone _ in the order about the prophecy?

“It does add some additional clarity to that, yeah. Anyways, I talked about my love of taking in apprentices and how impressed I was by his parents but was never able to get them to hear me out. I brought up the fact that ‘common knowledge’ about my campaign is mostly propaganda. I  _ may _ have also said that Severus is my spy in the Order.”

Barty laughed at that last revelation. “You’re just undermining him from all sides, aren’t you?”

“What can I say? I don’t like to do things by half measures.”

Any further discussion was delayed as the door was opened with a loud “thump”. Barty glanced back to see that Voldie’s enormous serpentine familiar had opened the door and was slithering towards the two of them. Voldie immediately began making cutesy hisses at her. Barty didn’t speak parseltongue, but he had picked up enough of the language to hear the word “cute” being used a disproportionate number of times. Really, he liked snakes, but not like  _ she _ did.

He pointed his wand at a hunk of metal and reshaped it into a plain ingot before changing that into a whirling gyroscope. If he had to learn alchemy, he may as well run a refresher on the basics first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N (Tendra):** Voldemort likes to keep people on their toes.
> 
> Voldemort’s ability to blink is one of the reasons she’s such a menace in this fic. She is capable of an unblockable short-range teleport that can be spammed as often as she can keep her focus. The real reason why Dumbledore was so insistent on using the blood protections at Privet Drive is because it’s one of the only things that would be able to stop her from just blinking across.
> 
> That’s a key reason why she was so feared. Not only is she almost impossible to stop with wards, but she is almost impossible to hit in a fight because she can fly freely in addition to that. She could disappear and strike from any angle.
> 
> Also, Tonks makes her first appearance. Yay! This is the first time I’ve ever had a chance to write her in a fic aside from a brief cameo in Scrambled Sorting. I look forward to working with her.
> 
>  **E/N (Xgenje):** Ok so, I was tired AF and still getting over my heatstroke while proofreading this, Ten was drunk, and I was also trying to get the Path of Exile Pissportal… It all sounds worse than it actually is.
> 
> A few things of import: in my exhausted state I said ‘the Older of the Phoenix.” I’m still mostly out of it so there may still be issues with the chapter I didn’t catch so I apologise in advance. Also, Tonks gives her Thonks for livenating for another day.
> 
> I’m sorry for having you read that with your human eyes.
> 
>  **E/N (Felix):** Late to the party but I arrived. There were a lot of ellipsis.
> 
> Also you can pry my italics from my _cold, dead hands._
> 
>  **E/N (Foadar):** Yeah, definitely Sith vibes from Voldemort. Use the power, use your talents. Darth Voldemort. Now we need a Sith name for Harry. Any suggestions?


	3. Apathetic Retribution

Severus scowled at the gathered crowd that had crammed themselves around the table in Grimmauld Place’s basement. He had no lost love for most of the Death Eaters at this point, but he hardly found any of those in the Order to be any more palatable. Arthur was a pushover, Molly was a harridan, Alastor was incapable of getting past Severus's previous loyalties, Shacklebolt was too serious, Nymphadora was both too clumsy and too inexperienced, and the less said about Black and the werewolf, the better.

The only person who wasn't _entirely_ unpleasant to speak with was Fletcher, and that was only if Severus cast bubblehead and air freshening charms to protect himself from the man’s pungent odour. Fletcher was at least cynical enough that Severus didn’t want to curse him for naïvete every time he spoke, which he could not say for the other Order members. As things stood, Molly refused to allow her twins to join the Order, despite the fact that they were both of legal age and, much as it pained him to admit it, competent. They were terrible at applying themselves academically, and they resembled the Marauders far too much for his taste, but he couldn’t deny the brilliance that went into every prank and invention that they made. He probably would have appreciated their skill more if he wasn’t one of their preferred targets.

“You’re quite certain of this, Alastor?” Dumbledore asked. “There was nothing at all? Could the traces have been removed?”

“There’s no way to remove the traces that thoroughly in this timeframe. I’m telling you that, wherever it was that Potter witnessed Voldemort’s resurrection, it was _not_ in Little Hangleton. There were no traces of ritual magic, or any magic, being performed there at any point recently. The same is true of that one cemetery in London.”

“The only ritual I could find matching the one that Potter says he witnessed specifically calls for the bone of the parent.” Severus added. “It would have to be freshly removed from the grave to maintain the highest level of magical potency, but I wouldn’t put it past her to try and edit the ritual in some other way. She would no doubt find using the bone of her muggle father to be distasteful, and she never cared much for her mother, either. I can easily see her taking measures to use some other form of material, perhaps from a more distant relative. We’d have to ask Potter for greater details about what he witnessed.”

“It’s for the best that he stays with his family for the time being. We can ask him for further details when it becomes necessary to retrieve him.” Dumbledore insisted. “Even if Voldemort was being truthful when she told Harry that she no longer had any desire to kill him, I doubt that she has no place for him in her plans. The longer we can keep him definitively out of her reach, the better.”

“That poor boy…” Molly began, at which point Severus retreated back to his thoughts.

He took a long sip of his coffee, trying to let the bitter flavours consume him enough to distract him from Molly’s current rant. It was more successful than he had expected, but less effective than he would have liked. Such was the story of his life.

“Well, I believe that covers our plans for the next few weeks.” Dumbledore said once Molly’s wails had been quelled. “We’ll continue to keep watch over Harry while he’s staying at his home away from Hogwarts, and we’ll begin monitoring the Department of Mysteries for any suspicious activity.”

Oh, please, as if the Department of Mysteries ever had any activity in it that _wasn’t_ suspicious.

“In the meantime, Remus and Rubeus will be acting as envoys to the Werewolves and Giants. I doubt we will be able to convince them to join our cause, but if we can at least prevent them from allying with Voldemort, then we could count that as a victory. Now then, does anyone else have anything that needs to be brought up?”

While they might be able to convince the giants not to join with Voldemort, any attempt to keep the werewolves from joining with her was a wasted effort. He didn’t know why Dumbledore was even bothering.

“Actually, I have something to report.” Nymphadora said hesitantly. “It’s… yesterday, when I was watching Harry, I popped back to my apartment for a second to grab a drink. Before I could even get inside, I was hit with some sort of disorientation charm and apparated away. I don’t know how long it took me to recover, but in that time, I was completely disarmed. My wands and backup wands had all been taken and I found myself face to face with Voldemort.”

The room erupted into chaos at that admission. Severus was a bit shocked at first, but that lessened as he had a moment to think it over. Voldemort was very intent on recruitment, particularly those whom she thought would support her _actual_ agenda, not her public agenda. For all her faults, Nymphadora was skilled, talented, smart, and had exactly the sort of background that Voldemort was likely to find desirable.

That was how she had recruited him, after all. He would never call Voldemort predictable, but this was the one thing she had done with a fair degree of consistency.

“No, she didn’t do anything to me!” Tonks insisted to a concerned Molly Weasley. “She just… talked to me for a bit. She was bloody terrifying, too. I’d heard stories about her teleportation skill, but it was unnerving to see it in action.”

Ah, yes, Voldemort did love her ‘Blinking’ ability. It was her favourite tactic for scaring the new recruits.

“She just talked?” Dumbledore said skeptically, giving Tonks an inquisitive stare. “Are you sure there was no other ulterior motive behind her approaching you? Could she have been attempting to track you back to Harry’s house, or perhaps leave some sort of tracking charm on you?”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “I apparated five times in a row to random locations before I returned to the auror office, then took the floo to my parents house, then apparated back to my post. I know how to take proper security precautions. Isn’t that right, Mad-eye?”

While Moody grunted gruffly, Dumbledore gave Severus a glance, causing him to inwardly sigh. He was obviously worried that Tonks was affected by some sort of mind magic, and wanted him to check for signs. It was a reasonable assumption, but Severus really was getting tired of doing this sort of dirty work, no matter which side of the war he was on.

Severus caught a glance at her eyes, and quickly formed a legilimency connection. He ran a few cursory scans through the outer layers of her mind before things got weird. The entire structure shifted and rearranged itself to keep him out, the metaphysical space distorting in impossible ways as mindscapes weren’t supposed to be able to.

_“What the hell do you think you’re doing!? Get the fuck out of my head, Snape!”_

Well, didn’t this just figure. Occlumency was not a requirement for being an auror, but it was heavily encouraged, and of course, Moody would have made her go far beyond what was expected of her at a minimum. It really shouldn’t have been surprising that she caught him so easily. What was surprising was the sheerly dynamic element to her defences. He couldn’t trace connections through the memories like he would normally, as each memory’s connections were constantly shifting. It was like trying to navigate an Escher drawing where everything was constantly changing into new impossible geometries with every passing second.

 _“How in the world are you doing this?”_ Severus was one of the best occlumens in the country, and he’d never seen anyone do anything _remotely_ like this.

 _“I’m a metamorph — Shifting is in my nature. Now get_ **_OUT!_ ** _”_

With that, every single facet of her mind aligned, leaving Severus wondering just what the hell was going on here before he found himself forcibly and unilaterally removed from her mind, and her wand pointed at his face.

“What the fuck was that about, Snape?” She said with a scowl. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to go traipsing about in other people’s heads without their permission?”

“You were in the presence of the greatest practitioner of the mind arts that the world has seen in the past century. Checking to make sure that your mind is untampered with afterwards is a sensible precaution to take.” He explained, trying not to let too much of his natural cynicism leak into his tone.

“And you couldn’t have asked first? Not that I would have said yes, mind…”

“And risk alerting whatever effects she might have left behind to my inevitable incursion? I think not.” He didn’t know if Voldemort had actually done such things in the past, but he had no doubt she was capable of it. That said, if she truly was interested in recruiting Tonks, she would likely leave the young woman’s mind as untouched as possible. Heavy mind arts were reserved for her opponents, not potential recruits or turncoats.

“Believe me, if Voldemort had left any lingering effects in my mind, I would know.”

“Watch your attitude, lassie!” Moody shouted from the corner of the room he was watching from. “That sort of overconfidence is what gets people killed!”

Tonks immediately mellowed at Moody’s chiding. “Yes, sir.” She shot one last glare at Severus before apparating out of the room. From there, people began to gradually trickle out, as the meeting was clearly over. Severus waited until it was only him and Moody left. Moody was _always_ the last to leave a room, as he hated the mere idea of having his back to people.

“Something you want to say, lad?” Moody asked as he leered at Severus.

“What in the world was going on in her head?” Severus asked flatly. “I have never seen a mindscape capable of that sort of dynamic reorientation before, and I’ve never seen any defences like that, either. And before you try and deny it, I _know_ that you were the one who taught her, so don’t bother.”

“Use your head, potion boy. Animagi can use their ability to augment their defences, and werewolves have an implicit defence of sorts. Metamorphmagery is just another type of Shifting magic, so why couldn’t she use it to augment her occlumency?”

That… did make a certain degree of sense. Shifting magic tended to have a very profound effect on the internal aspects of one’s self and one’s magic, all of which fell under occlumency in some form or another. On the other hand…

Well, she had set up her mind to be in a state of constant flux. There was no telling what some of mayhem that process would wreak on her ability to focus. It would explain why she could come across as spacey at times, and put her occasional bouts of clumsiness in a new light. She was nowhere near that clumsy in his classes, so it was obviously something she came about later.

Still… “I wasn’t aware that was possible.” He told Moody. And wasn’t that true. Metamorphmagery’s inherent fluidity _should_ make it fundamentally opposed to the structural nature of occlumency, even if it _was_ a form of Shifting magic.

Moody just shrugged. “I didn’t know if it would work, really. Not that I bothered telling her that when I told her to do it. I just told her that she should use her metamorph abilities to modify her occlumency or I’d be doubling her required physical training.”

Oh, it was the classic “I didn’t know it wasn’t impossible” scenario at work. Well, this confirmed his suspicions that Tonks was a prodigy, as prodigies were exceptionally prone to performing “impossible” feats because they didn’t _know_ such things were supposed to be impossible. He and Lily had each done it _at least_ a few times, and Voldemort herself pushed the limits of “impossible” on an almost daily basis. To this day, _no one_ had the slightest idea how her Blinking ability worked. The fact that Tonks was capable of similar feats certainly explained Voldemort’s interest in recruiting her.

Voldemort’s ability to sniff out magical prodigies was truly impressive, though. If not for the fact that she was bent on killing Potter, she’d probably consider him ripe for recruitment as well. She’d certainly been obsessed with recruiting his parents up until the _very_ end.

* * *

Harry still felt… on edge from Voldemort’s… _visit_ the day before as he walked around the neighbourhood. It was unnerving just how easily she had found him, in spite of the supposed protections around the area. Granted, she had explained _exactly_ she was able to circumvent them, but still….

The conversation hadn’t been unpleasant, at least. It was still disconcerting just how nonchalant she was around him, but he felt more informed by the brief exchange he had with her yesterday gave him more information about what was going on with the brewing war than he had by every other exchange he’d had since Voldemort had been resurrected. That fact was the only thing that stayed his quill about mentioning her visit when he was writing to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius that evening.

He felt like he _should_ feel guilty about not telling anyone that Voldemort “popped by”, but… Well, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. He didn’t know if they’d believe him when he could _still_ hardly believe it himself. He was really starting to doubt his own sanity at this point.

Harry was afraid to admit it, but he was starting to suspect that Voldemort was actually serious about not wanting to kill him. That did _not_ mean he was in any rush to see her again, but he was at least starting to suspect that there was more truth to what she was telling him than he would have initially suspected

It still felt weird to admit that possibility, even if he was only doing so in his head. Even with all of the evidence that had been accumulating in favour of that conclusion, he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe it.

He wasn't actually sure if he wanted to speak with her again. On the one hand, he could use her for information, as she was his only real connection to the magical world until he was able to leave the Dursleys in a month or so. On the other hand, she was still the woman who murdered his parents and had haunted his nightmares for longer than he could remember.

He avoided the park where she'd appeared yesterday. Just because he was supposedly easy to find didn't mean that he wanted to make it easier for her.

Harry sat down on a bench near the neighbourhood's bus stop. The bus wasn’t due for another hour, and it was nowhere near the park, so he should have some peace and quiet for a while. He remained tense for a while, recalling yesterday, how Voldemort had appeared out of nowhere the moment he sat down. As the minutes passed by and he remained alone, he finally allowed that tension to leave his body for a moment.

It did make sense, he supposed. No matter how amicable she appeared, Voldemort was trying to rule Magical Britain. Surely she had better things to be doing than-

“Sorry I’m late.” Voldemort said as she abruptly appeared and sat down on the bench next to him. She was dressed far more casually than she was last time. Her outfit consisted of jeans and a name brand t-shirt. The t-shirt was pink. Harry had never in his entire life imagined Voldemort wearing pink. He felt his brain seize up at the sight.

Also she had a basket of fish and chips. Harry didn’t feel equipped to handle that detail just yet, though. He was still hung up on the pink shirt. _Pink_. 

“Um…” He said, as he found it was the only noise he could make. Eventually, he managed to repeat the last word she said. “Late?”

Voldemort sighed and bit into one of the pieces of fried fish. “Well, it seems that the restaurant that served my favourite fish and chips closed down while I was bodiless. I’ve been having a real craving, though, and it’s not like most of my followers are familiar enough with the muggle world to give me recommendations. So instead, I had to start scouring magazines for restaurant reviews and it became this whole ordeal, and the next thing I knew, I’d completely lost track of time and realised that I should probably check in on you.”

Oh, well that proved it. Harry had gone insane. There was no way that he was sitting here on a bus stop bench inside of Little Whinging talking with Lady Voldemort while she rambled about reading muggle magazines for restaurant reviews so she could buy fish and chips to eat while she talked to him. Really, the notion that he’d gone insane explained so much. He probably had some sort of psychotic break back in the maze and had been in the looney bin dreaming up everything else since.

Voldemort held the basket out in front of him. “Would you like some? The batter isn’t quite as good as the stuff I used to get, but the fish is cooked slightly better.”

Well, it wasn’t like hallucinatory food could poison him, so he grabbed a few of the chips and bit into them. They were nice and crisp on the outside but still fluffy on the inside. She had seasoned them with a bit much salt and vinegar for his taste, though.

“Yeah, I went a bit overboard on the seasoning.” She said as if reading his mind. “But I have been without taste buds for far too long, so I’ve been going a bit overboard on all sorts of flavours.”

“I never had much of a chance to get used to strongly seasoned food.” Harry admitted. The Dursleys’ taste in food was just as bland as their taste in everything else.

Voldemort gave a disdainful glance around the neighbourhood. “I can imagine why, just looking around. I grew up in an orphanage, so I never had much of a chance to get used to it, either. Hogwarts food was the best tasting stuff I had ever eaten before I reached adulthood.”

Voldemort’s tone sounded almost wistful as she talked. Harry would be more unnerved if any of this was actually real. What she was talking about was definitely familiar, though. Harry remembered just how good the food tasted on the start of term feast on his first year and how, no matter the occasion, it always tasted better than the stuff he had back home.

“Of course, I travelled for a few decades after I left Hogwarts.” She continued. “I had lots of opportunities to try all of the food that the world had to offer. I wonder if any of my other favourite restaurants have closed down, too. It has been some time…"

Harry found himself relating to her once again, though not in her obsession with food and restaurants. Rather, he’d always wanted to travel and see the world. He’d never left the British Isles in his life, and he’d barely ever been anywhere that wasn’t Little Whinging, Hogwarts, or London. He wanted to explore and leave this dreadful, boring neighbourhood behind him forever.

“That’s an admirable goal you have there, Harry.” Voldemort said as she bit into another piece of fish. “I wish you the best of luck in pursuing it.”

Harry froze. He’d never told anyone that before. How did she…? “Are you reading my mind?” He asked incredulously.

Voldemort paused and blinked her eyes a few times. “Yes, yes I am.” She swallowed the piece of fish she was chewing on. “Sorry about that. It’s a force of habit.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “You read people’s minds out of _habit?_ That’s so… wrong!”

Voldemort sighed and put the basket down on the bench. “I _know_ it’s not a polite thing to do, but I just got my body back and I’m still acclimating to being able to use all of my magic again. I’m what’s known as a ‘natural legilimens’ — I have an innate ability to read the minds of others, one that I came into at an unusually young age. It’s so instinctive for me that it actually takes substantial self control for me to _not_ read other people’s thoughts.”

Harry’s indignation faded at her explanation. “That… sounds inconvenient.” Assuming she wasn’t lying about it, of course.

She shrugs. “It’s something I’ve dealt with long enough that it’s been normalised for me. I’m just off of my game, having spent thirteen years bodiless. I mean, I was barely able to use any magic in that state, so it's been quite a rush to get used to it again."

That… sounded horrible. Just going through the summers without magic was bad enough — Harry didn't want to imagine what it would be like to go over a decade without it.

"Besides," She continued, "all of my followers — at least the ones I've been in contact with — are able to reflexively defend themselves against such intrusions. You're the only mage I've been around in the week since my resurrection who has an unprotected mind."

Okay, being able to protect oneself from mind reading sounded like such an incredibly useful skill that he was amazed it wasn't taught in school. Maybe it was like wandless magic? Something that was theoretically feasible for the average person to do, but only after reaching adulthood? Harry had seen that most adults were able to use at least one wandless spell, while the closest thing an underage wizard could do was accidental magic, which was wild and uncontrolled in what it did.

“So… how do you learn to protect yourself from mind reading?” Harry asked.

Voldemort sighed. “Defending one’s mind from intrusions is a branch of the field of magic known as Occlumency. It’s an utter pain in the arse to learn, as it involves large amounts of time meditating and thinking about nothing so one can recognise external forces affecting their mind. It took me years to reach a decent aptitude, though I was also trying to learn it at a very young age, which presented its own hurdles. Did you know that modern psychological studies are showing that people’s brains don’t finish maturing until they’re in their early to mid twenties?”

Harry was surprised by the abrupt subject change, but answered honestly. “I did not know that. Wizards have psychologists?” He had heard some people talk about mind healers, but he wasn’t aware there were actual studies of the brain…

She shook her head. “No, I got this from a muggle psychology journal. Mages have never been exceptionally good at studying mental maturation from a physiological perspective.”

“I’m… surprised to hear that you read muggle psychology journals. I thought you hated muggles?”

“I do, but…” Voldemort pursed her lips before continuing. “I do hate muggles, but I am fully aware that it’s a personal issue that I need to work on. I try not to let it weigh on my professional choices too heavily.”

Harry stared at her. And kept staring at her. That didn’t… “How?”

She gave him a quizzical look. “How what? I mean, I suppose that it is a bit odd-”

“How do you not let it affect you professionally? Lucius Malfoy is a known blood purist and he’s one of your followers. Snape is horrid to everyone that isn’t Slytherin, but he’s especially hard on the muggleborns from other houses, and I saw him and Karkaroff talking about the dark mark.” Harry paused to take a breath. “And Karkaroff, for that matter, is the head of Durmstrang, a school known for not accepting any muggleborns. How can you say that you don’t let it affect you professionally?”

Voldemort gave a small, knowing smile as he went on. “That is a very good question, Harry, and I’m glad you asked. The most important distinction to make is that my followers do not share all of my views with me. For example, while I will admit to having a dislike of muggles, I am not a blood purist, and I do not believe that muggleborns are necessarily weaker than purebloods. Indeed, that is an issue Lucius and I have frequent conflicts over. He gave me no end of grief over my desire to recruit your mother.”

“But…” This just didn’t make sense. “In the Chamber of Secrets, your diary talked about how much she hated her ‘filthy muggle father’, and-”

“I’m sorry.” Voldemort interrupted, all mirth gone from her tone. “Did you just say that you spoke with my diary in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Um…” Harry stammered, feeling the anger emanating from her, even if it wasn’t visible on her face. “In my second year, your diary possessed Ginny Weasley and opened the Chamber of Secrets. I killed the basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor and stabbed the diary with one of its fangs.”

She gave a nasty scowl and stood up so abruptly that Harry jumped back out of reflex. “I’m sorry to cut things short, but it seems I need to have a talk with Lucius Malfoy about keeping track of other people’s belongings.”

With a loud crack, Voldemort disappeared, leaving Harry alone on the bench with the half eaten basket of fish and chips beside him. A minute after she left, Harry stood up and grabbed the basket, munching on it as he went back to number four. He wasn’t one to waste food, even if it was a bit too heavily seasoned for his taste.

* * *

Lucius was looking over the agenda for the next Wizengamot meeting, provided to him courtesy of Cornelius Fudge. Really, winning over the man was comically easy. A few words of flattery and some generous donations, and the Minister was now willing to bend over backwards to do him a favour.

Non-members of the Wizengamot weren’t even supposed to have access to this sort of information, but Cornelius was nothing if not indiscreet. Still, as deplorably corrupt as he may have been, Fudge was a huge boon for Lucius in the current political climate.

He felt a slight twinge in his awareness as one of the alert wards around the manor was triggered. It seemed that Voldemort was back early today from her latest recruiting mission. He made a note to avoid bothering her and went back to his work. That went on for a few moments until his attention was torn away from it by the sound of his office doors slamming open.

In the middle of the doorway stood an absolutely furious Voldemort, raw magical power flowing off her in waves. Whatever had happened today, it had clearly made her furious. He stood up from his desk to address her properly.

“My Lady-” He began, but was cut off before he could get any further.

“ _Crucio_.” Voldemort snarled.

Lucius had just enough time to think ‘Oh hell’ before the pain slammed into his mind with the force of the Hogwarts Express. It dragged on and on, consuming his entire being in utter agony, until it finally stopped. Slowly, he felt his mind forcing it way back to coherence through the lingering fog of pain. As he wiped the tears from his eyes to clear his blurred vision, he could see that Voldemort was _livid_.

What the hell had he done to anger her?

“We need to have a talk, Lucius. Please, sit down.”

She didn’t even give him a chance to stand up, conjuring an uncomfortable chair under him instead. Lucius desperately tried to pull himself together, as he was sure that he’d need his full faculties if he wanted to make it through the rest of the day unscathed. Voldemort was glaring at him the whole time, which was not doing wonders for his nerves, if he was being honest.

“So, I met up with Harry Potter today.” She began.

Ah, the Potter brat. Why she was so interested in recruiting the half-blood son of the mudblood who bested her, he had no idea. He wondered if she was angry because Cornelius had pushed out an article slandering the boy without running it by him first? Voldemort was very explicit when she ordered him to have Cornelius focus the brunt of his campaign on Dumbledore, rather than Potter. The man’s paranoia was making that a tricky task, but something like that wouldn’t make Voldemort _this_ angry.

“Imagine my surprise,” Voldemort continued, “when he mentioned that in his second year, the Chamber of Secrets was opened by a girl a year below him. A girl who was possessed by _my diary_ . A diary that _I left in the care of your family some years before_.”

Oh.

_Oh Shit._

Lucius had forgotten all about that.

“I want to hear your explanation for how this came about.” She demanded. “And for your sake, I hope it’s a good one.”

Okay, okay, he could do this. He took another few seconds to compose himself before he began his explanation. 

“Arthur Weasley had just pushed his Muggle Protection Act through the Wizengamot.” He explained. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have bothered myself over such things, but one of the provisions he put into the law allowed for the DMLE to perform unannounced searches of wizarding family homes so they could seize any items that violated the new law.” He scowled before continuing. “In truth, it was a thinly veiled excuse to get people pinned with possession of illegal objects. I didn’t own anything that would have violated the Muggle Protection Act, but…”

“You owned other objects that were illegal under other laws.” Voldemort said, completing his thought.

Lucius nodded. “One of those objects was your diary. I kept all of the objects that would have fallen under scrutiny in a hidden and secured room, but felt uncomfortable taking chances after the third search in as many weeks. I liquidated most of the items, and relocated a few to other locations under the custody of other people. I originally planned on storing the diary in my vault at Gringotts… but I don’t trust the goblins. They demand heavy fees for the storage of dark objects, and I didn’t trust them not to destroy it at the first excuse to do so.”

“But it was destroyed regardless.” She said accusingly. “Surely you can see that it would have been better to take the chance with the Goblins? Or have you been doing your typical routine and offending them at every opportunity because you can?”

Lucius bit his tongue. He really didn’t get Voldemort’s interest in creatures and half breeds. If it wasn’t for their short-term political goals aligning, he was sure they’d be enemies. They were really more allies of convenience than anything.

His distaste with her request must have been obvious, as she scowled at him again. “You know, your father had a far better poker face than you do. I sometimes wonder how you were able to get out of Azkaban.” Well, that was lots of money, lots of luck, lots of playing the sympathy card at the right moments, and skills in occlumency that were just barely good enough to let him lie under the influence of veritaserum. “So, continue telling me about your rash plan that led to you planting my diary on an eleven year old girl.”

Right. “Well, I was considering myself short on options. I didn’t dare sell it, and was lacking in any places to store it that were as secure as that I’d removed it from. I was debating what to do when I spotted the Weasleys entering Flourish and Blotts. At that moment, I improvised a plan. I planted the diary in the girl’s belongings and cast a confundus charm on her to make her believe she found it in her own house instead of among her school supplies. From there, she was… _supposed_ to hand the diary in, to either a teacher or a member of the ministry, telling them where she found it. Arthur Weasley would be accused of privately violating the laws he publicly upheld, dragging his reputation through the mud and hopefully bringing an end to the frequent searches being held under her supervision. Truth be told, I have no idea why she didn’t turn it in…”

Voldemort pinched the bridge of her nose and took several steadying breaths before levelling her gaze at him. “Why in the world did you think confounding someone to turn in the diary was a good idea? Do you have any idea what that book even _was_?”

He did not, and said as much.

“Right!” Voldemort exclaimed with exasperation. “ _Of course_ Abraxas never told you what it was! He probably just told you that it was something your family had been entrusted with safekeeping! He never would have _dreamed_ that he’d have to tell you how to handle such an object!”

Oh gods, now she was being sarcastic. Lucius had no way of knowing if this was a turn for the better or a turn for the worse. She did accurately nail down what his father had told him about it, though. Granted, he’d held onto the diary up until a few months before his passing in 1988, and he’d died before he had a chance to elaborate on what it was.

“The diary was…” She paused, visibly considering her next words. “It was an experiment in soul magic that I performed in my Hogwarts days. There were compulsions laced into it to make one want to hold onto it and keep it safe — compulsions far stronger than whatever confundus you cast on her.”

“Well, that does explain that much, at least…” Lucius admitted. “It’s also worth noting that the location I was originally using to hide it was compromised two weeks later during Weasley’s next ‘unannounced search’, so it was going to fall into someone else’s hands regardless.”

“Unless you did the sensible thing and put it in Gringotts.”

Lucius schooled his expression. “Much as you disagree with me, I can truthfully say that I wouldn’t trust those greedy little blighters if my life depended on him.”

Voldemort sighed and began hissing to herself in parseltongue. Lucius refrained from making any further outbursts, as he knew this was her way of attempting to keep herself calm.

Once she stopped hissing to herself, she took a few deep breaths before continuing. “The diary was irreplaceable, and its loss is… beyond regrettable. There is a possibility that I will be able to undo most of the damage done through its destruction. The diary possessed the girl. Do you have any idea how complete the possession was when the diary was destroyed?”

Lucius had no idea how complete the possession was. He didn’t even know that it was possessing her until Dumbledore said as much in his office after the diary had already been destroyed. Still, he at least had the official report to go by…

“I can’t comment on that, but I know that she had been writing in it for most of the year. She was carrying out attacks on muggleborn students using the basilisk to petrify them. At the end of the year, she was abducted into the Chamber of Secrets with a message implying her imminent demise left painted on the wall.”

Voldemort appeared exasperated at his first pronouncement, but perked up when he mentioned the girl being abducted. “That sounds… promising. Hm, let me check some numbers…”

She summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from his desk and began scrawling a few arithmantic equations.

“Yes… I think I can work with this. It will be tricky, but that’s never stopped me before…” She incinerated the parchment with a wandless spell and stood up from her chair. “Be grateful that the damage caused by your mistake was not permanent. I would be much angrier if it was.”

Lucius sighed with relief as she left the room. He was sure that he’d be trembling for days if he’d had to endure another cruciatus as intense as that first one. As it was, he’d likely have some small shakes for at least a day. On the bright side, such shows of weakness were unlikely to be noticed, as he had no appointments outside the manor, and had no need to make public appearances.

That was probably one of the few advantages he saw in not being a politician. The lack of accountability was something he savoured for the time being, as if things went according to plan, then it was not to last.

* * *

Voldemort fumed to herself as she walked through the halls of Malfoy Manor. It was best to get all of the frustration out of her system now, lest it impact her judgement later.

“ _§You seem angry, Mistress.§_ ” Nagini hissed at her.

“ _§I am.§_ ” She replied curtly.

“ _§Who are you angry at? I can eat them, if you’d like.§_ ”

She let out a curt laugh. For all her intelligence, Nagini tended to be straightforward in her approach to problem solving. “ _§Unfortunately, I’m not sure who I’m angry at. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.§_ ”

It was true, though. Voldemort didn’t know who to blame for the destruction of her first horcrux. Sure, it was Lucius who set off the events that led to its destruction, but at the same time…

Well, it was probably for the best that it was destroyed instead of being captured by the ministry, especially since it was destroyed while possessing someone. The Department of Mysteries would likely have taken an interest in it if the Ministry got it, and she didn’t want them prodding around a part of her soul. They might have even been able to track down her other horcruxes if they had an intact one. She didn’t know if such a thing was possible, but she did her best not to underestimate the Unspeakables. Rookwood was probably more knowledgeable than she was, and he wasn’t even a particularly high ranking unspeakable!

So, while Lucius certainly made some questionable choices, she didn’t know if she could blame him for its destruction.

She could have blamed Harry, but she could hardly blame him for something that was by all standards an act of self-defence. After all, her diary had been petrifying people using the basilisk and kidnapped the sister of his best friend to absorb her life force. She could hardly blame Harry for destroying it at that point.

Voldemort strode into the lab space that she and Barty had set up in one of Lucius’s too many spare bedrooms. Shelves full of reference texts that she’d accumulated over the years had filled the shelves that spanned one of the room’s walls. Barty had set up a work bench of sorts in the middle of the room, full of equipment that was mostly used in potions, but had uses in alchemy, as well. He was currently boiling a glass beaker filled with what appeared to be a solution of some kind of blood over a violet flame.

She ignored all of that for the time being and slumped down in a chair, letting out a sigh as she did so.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, Voldie?” Barty asked without letting his attention drift from whatever he was working on.

Voldemort twitched at his choice of wording, but let it slide. “One of my horcruxes was destroyed.”

Barty froze and looked up at her, horror written on his features. “Shit. I mean… shit. Are you okay? Are you feeling any adverse effects?”

She shook her head. “If I was going to feel any adverse effects, I would have felt them by now. The horcrux in question was destroyed _two years ago_.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s not good. How is this the first you’re learning of it? I mean, it was a part of your soul, wasn’t it?”

"Well, do you remember how I was experimenting with one of them? Seeing if I could give it a sense of agency and ability to function as an independent entity?"

Realisation dawned on Barty's face. "So, because it was acting as a separate entity, you weren't able to sense it, leaving you unaware of its destruction."

An awkward silence filled the room, punctuated only by the faint sound of liquid boiling away in its beaker.

"I can't say I'll miss it, if I'm being honest. I never did care for your diary."

Voldemort stifled a giggle. Leave it to Barty to break the mood like that. "You know, that diary was a highly accurate replica of what I was like at sixteen."

Barty shot her a look. "Does that really make it better?"

"No, it doesn't." Voldemort groaned. "Gods, I was such a melodramatic little shit when I was a teenager. Really, why the hell did I think releasing the basilisk was a good idea? The bloody messages on the walls? Just about the only sensible thing I did that year was getting Hagrid expelled for keeping an acromantula as a pet, and even _that's_ wrapped up in all the crap I pulled with the chamber."

And that was the real rub. When it really came down to it, the only person she could think to blame for her horcrux’s destruction was herself. After all, she _had_ been an arrogant little shit as a teenager, and yet she still decided to try and make the youngest soul fragment capable of acting independently. It would have been more sensible if she’d just left the diary alone. Instead, she made the most unstable part of herself able to actively possess people and absorb their lifeforce.

"Didn't you also come up with the name 'Voldemort' when you were in school?" Barty asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, but… I mean, it is kind of a cheesy name. Don't get me wrong, I _like_ it, but it's sort of a silly thing to call myself."

Barty gave a brief chuckle. "Well, it certainly makes people take you more seriously than if you used your birth name. If I had been named something like that, then I would have invented a new name for myself, too. I also would have killed my father a lot sooner for putting me through that."

Voldemort laughed back at him. "That's entirely fair. My father wasn't even responsible for giving me my name and I still killed him before I graduated Hogwarts."

"Yeah, but you've always been an overachiever."

She had really missed bantering like this. Now that every moment wasn't a struggle to continue existing, she could really bask in Barty's company. Granted, bonding over patricide probably wasn't a behaviour that most would consider healthy, but Voldemort was not about to claim she was an exceptionally well adjusted person.

“So,” he began, sombering instantly, “how did the horcrux get destroyed and who did the deed?”

Voldemort sighed. “I don’t know the details, but the basilisk was killed and one of its fangs was stabbed through the diary.”

Barty whistled. “Yeah, that’d do it.”

“As for the who, it was none other than Harry Potter himself.”

He shot her a look of disbelief. “And you still want to recruit him? Hell, he destroyed a piece of your soul and you _still_ think the prophecy was fulfilled? For all you know, he is some prophesied chosen one who’s going to vanquish you for good!”

Voldemort had her reasons for wanting to keep Harry alive, though she hadn’t told Barty the truth. All she’d told him before sending him off to Hogwarts was that Harry was to come to as little harm as possible. She toyed with her options before deciding to tell him the truth that she had omitted earlier. “Harry is also one of my horcruxes.”

Barty froze and stared at her, disbelief etched on his features. “He… really?” He paused, taking the revelation in. “People can _be_ horcruxes? How did this happen? How long have you known?”

“I’ve known since the end of his first year. I could sense the soul fragment in his body the moment I was disembodied from Quirrell. As for the how… I’m not sure, really. I was attempting to make another horcrux that night, and I can only assume that whatever Lily did to protect him interfered with the ritual in a weird way. I will admit, I didn’t know it was possible for living things to be horcruxes. Learning that Harry was a horcrux was the reason I decided to try and make Nagini into one, as I wanted to know if it could be done intentionally. That, and the protections that are now on Nagini make her highly resistant to damage, so I can help ensure her safety.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Leave it to you to be so concerned about your snake.”

Voldemort brushed his comment aside and positioned herself opposite Barty on the workbench. “So, what are you up to today?”

Barty grinned. “Moody had confiscated some samples of wyvern blood just before I took over for him. I decided to ‘appropriate’ the samples for my own use. Right now, I’m seeing what happens if you substitute them for dragon’s blood in various alchemical recipes!”

Voldemort grinned at the beaker full of violently bubbling violet liquid. “Awesome! I’ll activate the wards to keep this room safe from explosive damage! This’ll be so cool!”

She made a mental note to check on the status of her other horcruxes soon. It wouldn’t do if someone started tracking them down, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N (Tendra):** Yes, I’m alive. Yes, I’m still writing. No, I haven’t abandoned any of my fics. 
> 
> I fell ill in early March with a “severe respiratory illness”. Unfortunately, I live in the U.S., so I was never able to get tested for COVID. Whatever it was, the illness left me struggling to breathe for three weeks and gave me an erratic fever and occasional bouts of vomiting in addition to an almost complete loss of taste. That really interfered with my workflow. While I did not get pneumonia, I did end up with chronic costochondritis, which I have had to learn to deal with in the time since. Then, allergy season started…
> 
> Yeah, it’s been hell. I’m finally getting back into my old workflow. I’ll aim to get either a DftD or HPSS chapter done soon.
> 
>  **E/N (Xgenje):** Ten may be alive but I’m actually dead. Working full time with a constrained oxygen intake while doing heavy manual labor will do that to you. I’m on the second line for the U.S. fight against COVID. 
> 
> On a relevant note, do y’all have any idea how dumb some of these people are, or how bad they are at following simple instructions? Like, it’s do 2 things mate: wear a mask, and stay 6ft apart. 
> 
> **E/N (Foadar):** No trouble but boredom here as the outbreak clears up in Europe. Uni’s gone all digital and I am healthy, but bored to hell. Stay those 2 meters apart, everyone is better off because of it. Obey the measures to prevent further spread. We can make it through this. 


	4. Distant Offspring

“Do you think this one will blow up, too?” Voldemort asked excitedly as Barty started the final step of their first attempt to create a Philosopher’s Stone.

“I have no idea!” He replied with equal enthusiasm. “Only one way to find out! Take cover!” He hunkered down behind the table they had turned over to use as a barrier, counting the seconds on his fingers until…

**_BOOOOM!_ **

“Well, that’s a yes to the explosion.” Voldemort observed as she healed the damage to her eardrums.

Barty shrugged as he did likewise. “Explosions are usually the final step to any alchemical crystallisation process. The real question is if it gave us the result we want…”

She stood up and examined the wreckage. Shattered glass was spread across the table where it had melted to the surface. In the centre of the scorch marks marring said table’s surface sat a gorgeous crystal. The light within it burned like fire and crackled like lightning. It was absolutely beautiful and reeked of both danger and power.

It was no Philosopher’s Stone — the white-violet colouration made that obvious, but it was still gorgeous beyond belief.

“Well, looks like we can cross Kurilla blood off the list of potential catalysts for the Philosopher’s Stone. Still, it’s beautiful…”

As Barty began to write down her observations, Voldemort grabbed a pair of tongs and picked it up. As she moved the stone closer to her body, she could feel its energy far more acutely. In fact…

“Barty, get ready, I’m about to try something.”

Barty whirled around. “Dammit, Voldie, be-”

She pushed out a tendril of the magic and let it spark with the stone. The moment she did so, she could feel the energy and connect with the stone’s essence. She pushed raw magic through the opened connection, which the stone seized. A thin, violet beam shot out of the stone with a high pitched screech and stopped the moment she cut off the connection.

“-careful. Um… did that stone just recreate Kurilla breath?”

“It seems so.” Voldemort observed. “They do have an odd connection with energy, so I suppose it makes sense, in the weird form of sense that’s unique to alchemy.”

Unfortunately, any further study of the object was interrupted when the door opened and Pettigrew stuck his head in. “Um… My-My Lady? There are guests here to see you. Igor Karkaroff and a Miss… Rowle?”

“Rowle…” Voldemort mouthed. “Do we know a Rowle?” She discreetly asked Barty.

He shrugged. “One or two might have joined as cannon fodder? I never paid much attention to those outside the inner circle.”

Well, that was entirely fair. Barty, for all of his incredible, incredible skill, was best kept off the front lines. He was a researcher at heart, and, when the situation demanded it, he was the best healer she had in her ranks — not someone she wanted to risk getting hurt in one of her battles against the Ministry or the Order. The only members of the inner circle who frequently interacted with the “cannon fodder” were field commanders like Bellatrix and Dolohov.

“I suppose I should go see them, then. You don’t mind cleaning up, do you?”

Barty rolled his eyes. “I do mind, but I’ll do it anyways. Go see what your minions want.”

“You’re the best, Barty!” She said as she left the room. Peter sort of… simpered behind her as she began walking to the meeting room.

“I don’t suppose either of them said what they wanted?” She asked, trying to make small talk.

Peter let out a small whine before answering. “I couldn’t claim to know, My Lady.”

Voldemort resisted the urge to sigh. “You know, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again — you can just call me Voldemort, or even Voldie, if you prefer. Seriously, the only time you need to call me ‘My Lady’ is when you’re in front of the recruits. Recruits which  _ don’t exist _ at the moment.”

He just whimpered again. Spending twelve years as a rat had not been good for his mental health. He was a far cry from the intelligent and wary man who had approached her a decade and a half ago, seeking recruitment. He was probably in desperate need of a mind healer, but with Severus turned traitor, the only person skilled enough in legilimency to do so was herself. Voldemort was well enough aware of her own issues to not trust herself to put someone else’s mind back to rights…

Damn, she really wished Rookwood was here right now. He was probably the foremost expert on the mind arts in the country and was her best bet if she wanted a mind healer.

And speaking of Rookwood, there was the man who sold him out. Voldemort Blinked into her throne, feeling a slight twinge of amusement when Karkaroff jumped at her sudden appearance. Rowle seemed unperturbed, as did the young girl who was standing behind her.

“I’m surprised you’re showing your face around here at all, Igor.” She said snarkily. “I figured that if you were enough of a coward to sell out your siblings-in-arms, then you were enough of a coward to go into hiding for as long as possible. What brings you to my doorstep so soon?”

He gulped, but remained calm. “My Lady, I have many regrets about selling out those I worked with, but…”

“Get to the point, whippersnapper!” Rowle said as she smacked his rear with her cane.

Igor looked sheepish. “Yes… You see, when I was arrested, I was in the middle of helping Miss Rowle here get out of the country, to a safe location on the continent. I had just confunded several muggles so we could take a non-magical ferry when I tripped some sort of magic alert. I barely managed to keep the aurors away from Miss Rowle, which was quite fortunate, both for her sake and the sake of her… ward."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Ward? She wasn’t really sure what any of this had to do with her. "Are you going anywhere with this, Karkaroff?"

He looked sheepish, but nodded. "I needed to get out of auror custody and get to the continent so I could get their new identities sorted. I overheard the aurors debating using veritaserum during my trial and questioning, and I decided to offer a plea bargain while I still had the chance. Had I not, then, well…"

He stepped aside, gesturing for the girl behind Rowle to step forward. Voldemort took in the girl's appearance — she was young, maybe twelve or thirteen, with some sort of outlandish two-tone dye job on her hair. Voldemort tried to identify the girl, and it wasn't until she started really studying her face that she placed her.

"You're alive!?" Voldemort exclaimed.

The girl rolled her eyes in a typical expression of teenage exasperation. "Duh. I am standing right here, and I'm clearly not an inferius."

"I just assumed you were killed after Bellatrix was captured. She was never the best at planning contingencies, and there was no way that any of our opponents would let you live once they learned your identity."

She scoffed. "Great to see that you care so much. You just assumed I'd been killed and left it at that."

"In my defence, I was left without a body when it happened and most of my attention was focused on that conundrum. You'd have to ask your mother for details on how she was able to arrange all of this."

The girl glared even harder, which was actually an impressive feat. "You  _ are _ my mother."

Voldemort resisted the urge to groan. "No, I mean your  _ actual _ mother. The one who did all the… you know…" She waved her hand. "Karkaroff, has she been given The Talk, yet?"

The girl's face contorted in disgust. "Yes! Yes, I've had the freaking talk! I don't need to hear the details!"

"Well it's not like I've ever had sex." Voldemort pointed out. "There's no need to be grossed out. I just meant that I wasn't the one to actually give birth to you."

Delphini’s face seemed torn between disgust and panic. “Please stop talking! Just… Please, stop! I don’t want to know any details about the sex life of my sixty-something year old mother, including whether or not said sex life exists!”

“I think that I still only count as being in my fifties, actually.” Voldemort mused. “I’m pretty sure that the ten years I was discorporated don’t count.”

“That’s not the  _ point _ !” She groaned.

“I’m just saying…”

“Fuck you, ‘mum’.” She said as she left the room, giving Voldemort a two fingered salute as she slammed the door behind her.

“Delphini has always been a bit moody, even at school.” Karkaroff said, breaking the silence.

Voldemort shrugged. “She’s just at that age. Besides, it’s not like I have any room to criticise. I’m going to go run some errands. Make sure she doesn’t burn the house down or anything.”

Karkaroff paled. “Is that likely?”

Voldemort shrugged again. “I would have at her age, so you never know.”

* * *

Harry sat in his room, flipping through the one book he owned on the first war with Voldemort. She said that her goals didn’t involve blood purity, but nothing he was finding in the book would suggest that was true. On the other hand, she’d also mentioned that there was propaganda about her true motives, so maybe the book couldn’t be trusted. But then, that was assuming that Voldemort was telling the truth, which was a whole other can of worms.

Harry shut the book and sighed. If he wanted to get to the bottom of this, he’d need to look at things objectively. He needed to get unbiased info and try to connect the dots from there.

He opened the book again and tried to only focus on the facts, not the interpretations done by the author. 

It did seem that Voldemort never officially claimed to be in favour of blood purity, instead relying on other language in her speeches. One of her most common choices of phrasing was “cleansing the nation of its filth”. While that could easily be ascribed as promoting blood purity, it wasn’t phrasing that any blood purists had used before…

“Boy!” Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice interrupted his reading. “You’ve got a visitor!”

Harry sighed and put the book back. Maybe the Weasleys had finally come to take him away for the summer. It was a bit early in the summer for that, but he could always be hopeful…

He began walking down the steps and froze when he saw Voldemort making casual small talk with Aunt Petunia.

Right, he’d almost forgotten that he’d gone insane. Every time he felt like reality was starting to assert itself, Voldemort would come along and do something ridiculous, like getting along with Aunt Petunia. 

Voldemort’s gaze drifted over to where Harry was standing, and she immediately broke out in a grin. “Hello, Harry! I’m sorry to stop by early today, but something’s come up. Are you ready to go?”

Harry nodded dumbly.

“Lovely!” Voldemort turned her attention back to Aunt Petunia. “Is there a time you’d like him home by?”

Aunt Petunia put on her haughtiest face and sniffed. “I don’t care when he gets back, so long as he doesn’t make a ruckus when he does.”

Voldemort nodded curtly. “Very well, then. Come along, Harry.”

As soon as Petunia shut the door behind them, Voldemort let out a sigh. “Ye gods, she was unbearable. I’m so very sorry that you have to live with her — she almost makes Mrs. Cole look nice.”

“Um…” Harry stammered, still trying to get his thoughts in order. “Why are you here?”

Voldemort glanced at him, appearing almost hesitant. He was wondering what she was thinking until she shattered his whole worldview once again with her next words.

“My daughter is alive.”

“Huh?” Harry said, dumbstruck. Voldemort had a  _ daughter _ !? How!? Why!? Then he had to resist the urge to gag as the implications caught up to him.

Voldemort rolled her eyes. “I don’t even need to read your mind to know exactly what you’re thinking, so let me nip that thought in the bud — I’ve never had sex.”

Harry grimaced. “I don’t think I needed to know that either.”

She just rolled her eyes and muttered something about similarities before turning back to him. “Look, I’d love to chat more, but I’d rather not do it outside, if it’s all the same to you. The weather’s really hot today, and I’d rather not have to cast cooling charms every ten minutes to stay comfortable when an air conditioned building would be easier. Is there anywhere you’d like to go for lunch? My treat.”

“Um…” Harry still felt like he was having trouble processing this. “Pizza?”

Voldemort looked pensive for a moment. "Well, the best pizzas are found abroad, but I can't exactly take you on an international trip. That said, there are some decent ones in the UK. I'll apparate the both of us."

"…Apparate?" He had never heard that term before.

"Ah, it's basically teleportation. It's also very unpleasant. I hope you’ve got a strong stomach.”

Without waiting for him to reply, she grabbed his hand and the world fell away into a suffocating whirlwind. It felt like he was being squeezed from all sides while falling through an abyss before it suddenly relented and he found himself on solid ground again. He immediately had a coughing fit as his lungs tried to overcompensate for their sudden ability to breathe again.

“Not bad for a first go.” Voldemort remarked. “Usually, people vomit after their first apparition.”

Harry let out several more coughs before gasping. “Why is all travel in the magical world terrible?”

Voldemort’s eyes lit up as she laughed. “Harry, it cannot possibly surprise you to learn that instantaneous travel is not without its downsides. For example, apparition works on the same principles that muggle scientists call ‘wormholes’. Unfortunately, large wormholes require an impractical amount of energy to make, so apparition works by making a small wormhole and using magic to force ourselves through it.”

Harry didn’t know what most of that meant. His lack of comprehension must have been visible on his face, as Voldemort just sighed when he didn’t say anything. “Come on, let’s get lunch.”

She led the way out of the alley in which they had arrived onto a small but somewhat busy street. She walked past several storefronts on the street, before stopping and pushing open the door to a small, brick building.

Thankfully, it wasn’t very busy, so Voldemort’s request for a table for two was met immediately.

Harry did his best to take in all of the items on the menu. While most of it was pizza, there were several other foods of Italian origin, like chicken parmesan and various pasta dishes.

To her credit, Voldemort only gave the menu a cursory scan before putting it down and scanning the restaurant. She must have been familiar enough with the menu that she already knew what she wanted to order.

Harry, on the other hand, was realising he had no idea what most of this stuff would taste like. Hogwarts didn’t really serve Italian food, and the only time he’d had any outside of school was when the Dursleys occasionally had pasta or pizza and he was able to snatch some of the leftovers before Dudley inevitably got to them.

Eventually, he decided what he’d like to order and put his menu down. Unfortunately, Voldemort didn’t seem keen on breaking the silence until they’d ordered, so they just sat there, awkwardly, until a waitress finally came over to take their orders.

“I’ll have a personal pizza with mushrooms, olives, and anchovies.” Voldemort said politely. “Harry?”

“Oh, um, I’ll have the grilled chicken pizza.”

The waitress nodded and took their menus, leaving them alone. Voldemort simply had an amused smile on her face as the waitress walked away.

“What’s so funny?” He asked.

“She thought I was your mother.”

Harry’s brain froze. “…Why?”

She shrugged. “What else would she assume when she sees an older woman taking a teenage boy out to lunch? Especially since we have the same hair colour.”

Harry decided to change the subject. “So, why did you come here today? You said your daughter is alive, but that doesn’t really tell me why you came to me.”

Voldemort sighed. “I suppose I should start from the beginning, then. After all, you were quite shocked, and appropriately so, that I have a daughter at all. To really explain how she came about, I need to tell you about Bellatrix.”

The name was vaguely familiar, but Harry couldn’t place it without context.

“Bellatrix Black was…  _ is _ one of the members of my inner circle. The inner circle consists of those exceptionally talented mages whom I trust enough to keep in the loop on my true agenda, not just the one I pretend to have for the public. Bellatrix was actually one of the first people I ever took on as an apprentice.”

“Wait, Bellatrix  _ Black _ ? Like Sirius Black?”

Voldemort nodded. “Sirius and Bellatrix are first cousins. Anyway, Bellatrix was one of the first people I took in as an apprentice. There’s a lot I could tell you about her, but most of it is her story to tell, not mine. Suffice to say that Bellatrix became a Death Eater at great personal cost for the sake of maintaining her cover. In exchange, I offered to do everything I could to free her from that cost, as well as offering her a favour of her choice, no strings attached.

Unfortunately, I was never able to free her from the cost of maintaining her cover, despite my best efforts. It was a highly stressful situation for her and was wearing her down a bit. In the final year of the war, she made use of that favour that I owed her.

She was pushing me quite a bit to have a child of my own, what with me being the last parselmouth in existence. I had no interest in continuing my bloodline, being immortal myself, and I had a special lack of interest in actually bearing a child. As such, when Bellatrix called in the favour I owed her, she demanded to have my child.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he processed that. “But… you’re both women?”

Voldemort pinched her brow. “Harry, it cannot possibly surprise you to learn that magic makes it possible for two women to have a child together.”

“Er…” Truth be told, he’d never even thought about it, actually. He was familiar with the basic ideas of reproduction, if only because Aunt Petunia wanted to “prevent him from spreading his freakish genes without knowing better”. Harry mostly tuned out when she went on a tangent about the freakishness of homosexuals.

“There is a blood magic ritual that allows two women to have a child together. The child will always be born female due to chromosomes, but it is possible. There’s even a ritual that allows two men to have a child, but it requires a woman to act as a surrogate and results in a miscarriage twenty five percent of the time, as the human body doesn’t handle being born with two Y chromosomes very well.”

Harry was definitely starting to regret not keeping up with his muggle education like Hermione was. Then again, it wasn’t like he could have predicted needing a background in muggle science to keep up with Voldemort’s explanations of magical theory.

“After getting assurance that Bellatrix really did want this, I acquiesced and performed the ritual with her. I had several conditions before agreeing, such as making sure that the child was well cared for, both financially and emotionally, as well as affirming that Bellatrix would handle most of the actual parenting. I’m… really not much good with young children. Then, on September 29th, 1981, Delphini Bellatrix Riddle was born. Her existence was a secret, known only to myself and a select few members of the inner circle. When I learned that Bellatrix had been captured and sent to prison mere days after my defeat at your hands, I assumed that Delphini had been quietly killed by those who opposed me. Now, less than a month after regaining my body, I find out that she’s alive after all.”

“Why would they have killed her?” Harry asked. “I mean-”

“Hold that thought, our food is here.”

Harry watched, somewhat impatiently, as the waitress placed their pizzas on the table. Voldemort wasted no time taking a slice out of hers and moaning into it as she took a bite. He attempted to take a bite out of his, but nearly burned his mouth as he did so.

“Oh, yeah, it just came out of the oven. Here, let me handle that for you.” Voldemort said as she reached over and tapped the edge of his pizza with her finger. Harry was pleased to find that his pizza was now a cool enough temperature to eat while still being pleasantly warm.

“Okay, while your wandless cooling charm is impressive, I’d like to get back on topic. Why would your daughter have been killed? I mean, she was only an infant, after all.”

Voldemort sighed. “Harry, I know that you’re young, but you need to understand that this was a reality of war. While infanticide is not something to be taken lightly, there was no way they were going to let the child of a Dark Lady who terrorised the nation walk away with her life. They would have feared her becoming a figure for my followers to rally around and thus would have disposed of her before anyone else could learn of her existence. This sort of thing happens all the time in history, especially around violent revolutions. The Bolshevik Revolution and the French Revolution are two examples from history where bloodlines were ended for the sake of removing rallying points from the opposition.”

“That’s awful.”

She shrugged. “War often is. I may be working towards the greater good of this nation, but there is still blood on my hands and horrible deeds in my past. I want to win this war so all of the things done in my name won’t be for naught. The ends justify the means… or at least that’s what I tell myself.”

A morose silence settled over them as they continued to pick at their lunch. “…So, why am I here? You never got around to explaining that.”

“Hm? Oh, I want your advice. How would I go about bonding with my daughter? While I may never have planned on being an especially significant part of her life, I’d prefer to do better than my own father did and try to be there for her now, especially since Bellatrix is currently in prison. Unfortunately, I have almost no experience with healthy parental relationships, either directly or indirectly, so I have no idea how I should approach this. You’re just over a year older than Delphini and also grew up without your parents, so I wanted to ask you how you think I should handle this.”

…Harry didn’t even want to  _ begin _ dissecting how his life became this fucked up. He almost missed it when his only concern was the next attempt on his life, as it was at least less bloody confusing. Crazy or not, he still would have expected Snape to start singing and dancing in the Great Hall before  _ this _ happened. And even if she had ulterior motives for spending time with him, she was still being far nicer and more open with him than any other adult had been.

Voldemort continued talking while Harry had his miniature crisis. “I know that you don’t know her personally, so I won’t ask for specifics on how I should handle things. Although, learning her interests would probably be a good starting point…”

_ Nothing _ in Harry’s life could have prepared him for having this conversation. “Why me? Of all the people to ask, why me?”

Voldemort tilted her head at him. “Well, it’s not like I can talk to most people. I mean, I’m trying to keep the fact that I’m alive from as many people as possible. Sure, a  _ few _ of my followers whom I trust have children around your age, but none of them are exactly in a position to give advice. Draco’s parents both spoiled him horribly in their own ways. Theodore Nott and his father actively hate each other, and even then, Nott Sr. isn’t even an inner circle Death Eater. Although, given their antagonistic relationship, Theodore could readily be inner circle material, even if he’s not a prodigy…”

“The only person I can think of in my year who would be a prodigy is Hermione.” Harry mused.

Voldemort just laughed at that. “Harry, your friend is an undoubtedly intelligent person, but an intellectual prodigy is completely different from a magical prodigy. I won’t claim to know much about your peers, but from what I’ve seen and heard, the only prodigy in your year is  _ you _ .”

He froze, his food forgotten in front of him. “What?”

“Well, you see… Actually, we probably shouldn’t get into this right now. I don’t want to risk going on some long tangent about magical theory and never get around to the reason I actually asked you here. So, what should I do with Delphini?”

“Um… I don’t know? I’m still not sure why you’re asking me.” Then again, he wasn’t sure why Voldemort was so obsessed with him. It wasn’t as though she was doing this with anyone else… right?

Voldemort sighed and folded her hands on the table. “Because you’re the only one I can ask who knows what it’s like to grow up without parents.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

“I…” she paused, hesitant to continue “I also grew up without my parents. I was stuck in some poor orphanage in the middle of London after my mother died in childbirth. While I  _ could _ use my own experiences to try and relate to her, I also know that it’s been a very long time since I was a child and that society has changed in the meantime. I wouldn’t want to impose antiquated standards on her. Besides which, I am aware that my sense of empathy is… less than functional, and I like to consult with others in matters where my lack of ability is a hindrance.”

That was a lot more self awareness than he’d expected Voldemort to have. Still… Harry tried to imagine what it would be like to be in Delphini's situation before answering. "I… guess I’d avoid trying to assert yourself as an authority figure in her life. She'll probably just resent you for it if you do that without getting to know her first. Beyond that… just try to get a feel for her interests, but give her space when she asks for it? I’m not really sure what else to tell you.”

Voldemort nodded. “Okay, that’s about what I thought, but it’s always good to have a second opinion on such matters. …I’m really going to need to see a mind healer when the war is over. Ah, hang on, there’s our server. Excuse me! Can we get the check, and a box for Harry’s pizza?”

The server nodded and walked into the kitchen. Harry looked across the table to see that Voldemort had already eaten her entire pizza. That woman really had an appetite, didn’t she?

Once the items in question had been dropped off at their table, Harry heard the distinctive sound of a wand being ejected from its holster. He reflexively tensed, but instead of attacking him, Voldemort created a notice-me-not charm around their table before sending Harry’s pizza into the box with a flick of her wand. Another flick, and the box glowed blue for a second before fading back to white.

“A preservation charm.” She explained, preempting his question. “It’ll keep the food edible far more efficiently than any refrigerator could.”

Harry nodded his thanks as Voldemort dispelled the field around their table, took out a plain black wallet, and left several notes on the table near the check while muttering about tips. Harry just sort of spaced out as he tried to process everything from today as Voldemort led him out of the building and apparated them back to Privet Drive. One coughing fit later, he walked back into Number 4, stashed his preserved pizza under his bed, and sat down to think.

* * *

Voldemort watched Harry go with a pleased smile. Sure, he was skeptical of her and constantly doubting his own sanity, but he was slowly warming up to her. It might end up taking most of the summer, but she was certain he would at least be willing to hear her out when it came time to tell him the truth.

She turned to a spot beside her. “You saw nothing. You never noticed Harry leave the house. I was never here.”

And with that, she apparated away, releasing the invisible Alastor Moody from the Imperius curse she’d placed him under when she arrived earlier that day. Really, for a man so notoriously paranoid, it was astonishingly easy to get the drop on him.

* * *

Tonks apparated to the hallway outside her flat and stretched her back. Today was a surprisingly light day at the office, what with Moody being out on Order business. He normally had her doing drill after drill if it seemed like nothing was going to come up, which left her very little time to do her necessary paperwork. She briefly tuned into the wards she’d set up to make sure nothing had been tampered with before unlocking the door with her magical signature.

While Tonks was not a cursebreaker by trade, she was competent enough in the field to set up what she considered to be a very sophisticated ward scheme around her residence. Moody had declared her work “acceptable”, which was the closest she’d get to being praised by the man.

She was confident enough in her work that she was taken by surprise when she found someone lounging across her couch chewing on some bubblegum. Bubblegum from her own stash, which was  _ also _ warded.

It was Voldemort.  _ Of course _ it was Voldemort.

At least Tonks was armed this time. She’d gone through a lot of trouble enchanting all of her clothing to make her even harder to disarm, and she’d gone through hours of lecturing by Ollivander before he relented and let her buy several more spare wands.

There was no way she’d be going down without a fight.

“Easy there, Nymphadora.” Came a voice from the sofa. “I’m just here to chat, and decided to make myself comfortable while I waited.”

“The last time we had a ‘chat’, you hit me with a confundus charm, kidnapped me, disarmed me, and did your damned best to intimidate me!”

Voldemort sat up and blew a bubble with the gum. “Come now, surely you can’t blame me for wanting to make an impactful first impression, can you?”

Tonks just glared.

Voldemort just rolled her eyes, the arsehole. “Fine, then. I’m sorry for hitting you with a confundus charm, kidnapping you, disarming you, and trying to intimidate you. Happy?”

“No, because  _ someone _ broke into my house and stole some gum from my stash, too.”

“Hey, I didn’t  _ break _ anything.” Voldemort said defensively. “I just entered your house, no breaking required.”

“You just entered.” Tonks said skeptically, noting that Voldemort ignored the other claim levelled at her. “Through my entire ward scheme and magically locked doors and windows. You  _ just entered _ .”

Then, Voldemort was gone from the sofa. When she spoke, the sound came from behind Tonks, making her whirl around to see Voldemort leaning up against the door to her flat. “No ward scheme in existence is capable of stopping me.”

“That’s a bold claim.” Tonks replied, trying not to sound too shaken by the experience. That skill, whatever it was called, was unnaturally silent. It wasn’t possible to teleport silently — that was the one universal downside of magical travel. Apparition made noise as it displaced air. Portkeys made noise as they bent space. Whatever this was, it violated all known principles of instantaneous travel.

“It’s also a true claim.” She replied nonchalantly. “Now then, I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered my offer of employment?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“Why the fuck would I want to join the Death Eaters, anyway!?” Tonks yelled, feeling immensely grateful for the silencing charms she worked into the wards. “Do you want me as some gesture of ‘reclaiming me’ because of my parentage!? ‘Rescuing the poor, lost daughter of the house of Black from the legacy of her poor mudblood father’ and all that tripe!? Well you can forget it! It will be a cold day in hell when I join your gang of blood purists!”

Voldemort didn’t seem at all perturbed by her rebuke. If anything, she seemed amused. “You’ll find that this war is not so black and white, Nymphadora. In fact, I will have to arrange for you to have a discussion with your aunt after I break her out of prison. I’m sure you’ll find it… enlightening.”

Tonks tensed. “Was that a threat?”

“Oh no, not at all. I really meant it. You remind me a lot of Bellatrix and I think you’d get along quite well. You’re both driven, loyal to a fault, resentful of your legacies, and you’re both prodigies.”

Damn, was it that obvious? Well, it probably was. Prodigies weren’t exactly good at staying under the radar, especially once they hit adulthood. It was the main reason Moody snapped her up right out of the academy, as he wanted to see what she could accomplish with his tutelage.

“Seriously, Nymphadora, I am the most powerful witch in existence. Surely you could see the benefits of learning from me? Think of the potential!”

Tonks slowly levelled her wand at the Dark Lady. “The only thing I’m thinking is that you’re an arrogant bitch hopped up on delusions of omnipotence. If you’re really as strong as you claim, why are so many of your foes still standing?”

“Because I’m playing the long game, obviously.”

“Uh-huh. Then why not kill your biggest adversaries? Why not sneak into Dumbledore’s bedchambers and kill him in his sleep? Even if you’re playing the long game, he’s the only person who could go toe to toe with you in a fight. Why leave him alive if he’s the one person with a chance of decisively beating you?”

Voldemort didn’t say anything. For a moment, Tonks thought that she might have gotten the better of her. When Voldemort did reply, though, the answer was not what she expected.

“Guilt.”

Tonks lowered her wand slightly. “Er… what?”

“I’d rather not get into it, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Tough luck. It’s  _ not _ all the same to me, and you didn’t give me a choice when you ‘let yourself in’. So, I’m curious what you did that has a sociopath like yourself feeling so guilty that she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“I prefer the term ‘empathically challenged’. As for what has me feeling this way, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to be the bigger woman, as I really do not want to get into it.” And with that, Voldemort began walking towards the door.

“What, that’s it? You’re just leaving?”

“I’m a busy woman, Nymphadora. As fascinating as you are, you aren’t the only one who has my attention right now. Wars don’t plan themselves, you know. Just remember that this war is only pretending to be about blood purity — the actual reasons run far deeper than that.”

With that, Voldemort vanished in that uncanny teleport of hers, leaving Tonks alone in her apartment. She didn’t know whether she should be more scared of Voldemort, or impressed by her.

And really, what was that about her being like Bellatrix? She may have been smart, but Tonks wasn’t the sort of madwoman who took delight in others’ suffering.

No, she was nothing like Bellatrix Lestrange.

* * *

Voldemort Blinked into the laboratory and slumped into a chair. Barty, who was long used to such antics from her, didn’t even bat an eye at her sudden appearance. Instead, he fell back on his favourite thing in existence — sarcasm.

“You were gone for  _ three hours _ , Voldie. You cannot possibly be tired already.”

“It’s been a long day, Barty.” She said dismissively.

“Is this about your kid?”

Of course he already knew. “That’s… definitely a large factor. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed. I lost  _ thirteen years _ , Barty. It’s only through good fortune that I don’t have to start completely from scratch, and so many things have happened that shouldn’t have.”

“It’s… yeah, I understand. Remember that I lost thirteen years to my bastard of a father as well.”

“Yeah, it was a really shitty decade for both of us, wasn’t it?”

Voldemort settled into a comfortable silence with Barty as he continued to work and she continued to mull over her various problems.

For one, she  _ really _ needed to resolve the Dumbledore situation. She should have taken care of it decades ago, but no one she trusted was in a position to actually do anything about it. Severus was skilled in the mind arts and properly positioned, but she didn’t trust him with the knowledge required, not since he’d turned traitor. Harry  _ might _ be a viable candidate, but he would need some serious convincing and some very thorough training in the mind arts.

Speaking of which, Harry was another person on her mind. He was intelligent, able to grasp things surprisingly quickly, though he definitely had motivation issues. If he really applied himself, then he could probably rival her in both skill and power. Pettigrew had, in one of his more lucid moments, spoken in awe of the power behind the Patronus that Harry summoned at the end of his third year. Being able to use that spell at such an age was one thing, but being able to use it to repel hundreds of dementors was practically unheard of.

Next, there was Delphini. The one advantage of the current situation was that she was a teenager, not a child. While Voldemort had enough restraint to not lash out at children, she certainly had no fondness for them. Adolescents were generally more tolerable, in her opinion. It was an age at which one’s best and worst aspects were laid bare, and was thus the best way to get an idea of what sort of person someone was. This way, Voldemort still had an opportunity to be a part of her… child’s life while avoiding what was, in her opinion, the worst years.

Delphini would definitely need teaching, though. Even if she wasn’t her daughter, there was no way Voldemort was going to keep a child this close to her without taking steps to ensure their safety. In fact, a student-teacher relationship would be much more up her alley. While Voldemort had no (good) experiences to go off of when it came to dealing with family, she had apprenticed dozens of individuals across the previous several decades. It would be a much more comfortable way for her to forge a relationship with Delphini, for her at least. While she didn’t know the woman personally, Rowle seemed to do a good enough job taking care of the girl, and Bellatrix would certainly be up to taking over as primary caretaker once she’d recovered from her stint in Azkaban.

And that brought her to Bellatrix. Voldemort  _ really _ needed to get her out. She also needed to get some of her other followers out, like Rookwood and Dolohov, but Voldemort prioritised Bellatrix above them, as she had still yet to make good on that promise she made to her all those years ago. That, and Bellatrix was one of the few people she’d ever met who could hold up a half-decent conversation on magical theory. That alone made her pleasant company, but Bellatrix was also one of her best front-line fighters, and the only person besides herself who could easily take on multiple aurors. Dolohov came close, but his history of dueling made him prone to focusing on a single target.

So yes, freeing Bellatrix was a high priority. Unfortunately, Voldemort didn’t dare take Azkaban until the situation with her body was resolved. And  _ that _ meant that she needed the Philosopher’s Stone.

…Dammit.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had any revelations about alchemy while I was out, have you?” She asked.

“I’ve realised that I want to travel back in time and murder whoever came up with the idea of turning arithmantic equations into riddles. Seriously, who decides to turn good, clean numbers into bullshite wordplay!? Alchemists are way too picky about preventing outsiders from understanding their work.”

“While I hate to play devil’s advocate, they have a point.” Voldemort commented as she started at the scorch marks on the ceiling. That explosion must have really been something if it even managed to create singeing that high. “Philosopher’s Stones are challenging to make, but not  _ that _ challenging. If the knowledge of how to make them was more widely available then it was, then there would be some serious global destabilisation due to both inflation and a large number of immortals. It’s the sort of hellish scenario that could easily result in some very extreme concentration of power, creating some very severe class divisions.”

“So, like the Wizengamot, but worse?”

She laughed. “Yeah, basically. I mean, it’s bad enough that the old families control most of the wealth, but can you imagine if they were also immortal? No, immortality is best kept as something that one needs true determination to claim.”

“I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you…” Barty mumbled as he scribbled out some equations on his parchment. “Oh! I didn’t make any headway on the stone, but I  _ did _ figure something else out. I figured out why your resurrection ritual went all screwy.”

Voldemort perked up. That was good news, actually. While she had no plans on dying anytime soon, it would be all the better if she knew how to avoid this problem in the future. “So, what went wrong?”

“You know how the original ritual called for using the bone of the father? And how we modified it to use the bone of your, what, great great great grandmother?”

She nodded. “Melinda Gaunt. She was my nearest ancestor who was neither a muggle nor horribly inbred.”

Barty nodded in confirmation. “Right, well, while we properly compensated for using bone that was several generations detached from the intended material, we did  _ not _ compensate for using genetic material from your mother’s side of the family.” With that, he handed her a piece of parchment that had several corrections on it marked in red. She looked it over and realised that they  _ did _ completely forget to compensate for that.

“Motherfucker.” Voldemort swore. “How the fuck did we miss this?”

He shrugged. “You were only recently corporeal and I was recovering from years of imperius exposure? Really, it’s a testament to our skill that we managed to modify the ritual as much as we did with our minds as muddled as they were.”

She just sighed and pinched her brow in exasperation. “I still can’t believe this. I don’t want to rush you, but please consider this a priority. I’m sure you understand  _ why _ .”

Barty nodded. “Secret’s safe with me,  _ Mistress _ .”

Voldemort groaned. “I regret telling you that you could use that term. I should have known you’d just use it as an avenue for more innuendo.”

Barty waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m going to leave you to your work, Barty, while  _ I _ go and check up on Delphini. See how she’s settling in and all that.”

“Suit yourself.” Barty said teasingly. “I guess it’ll be another lonely night for me.”

Voldemort was never more grateful that Barty’s occlumency was good enough to keep the details of such “lonely nights” from her passive legilimency.

* * *

While Delphini was annoyed that Gran forced her to come to the UK, she was willing to take advantage of the opportunity it presented her. The Slavic Confederacy was generally lax when it came to restricting materials on the dark arts, but certain books were unilaterally banned. The UK, however, had lots of grandfather clauses that made it legal for families to own such books, so long as they weren’t being bought or sold. It was just another way that the aristocracy of the Isles held their power.

The Malfoys were not a part of the aristocracy, however, they had enough money to obtain banned books through illicit means, and just enough political acumen to make law enforcement look the other way. There was no way she’d pass up a chance to read such material when the opportunity presented itself, even if it did come at the grace of a family as spineless as the Malfoys. Gran had a lot to say about the Malfoys, and very little of it was good.

Unfortunately, her reading about ritual human sacrifice was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Delphini was content to ignore them until she saw that the person coming in was none other than the Dark Lady herself. Whoop-de-freakin-doo.

“May we speak?” She asked Delphini in a level tone that implied some extreme emotional control.

Gods, of course she wanted to talk.  _ Everyone _ wanted to fucking talk. Gran wanted to talk, Karkaroff wanted to talk, and now her “mother” wanted to talk. “Be my guest.”

Delphini watched as Voldemort sat down, trying to get a read on her body language. While the woman was clearly very good at controlling herself, she did detect a hint of hesitation, or possibly wariness, in her posture. When she made no move to start the conversation, Delphini started it for her.

“Are you going to actually say anything, or can I go back to my book?”

“What are you reading?” She asked.

Oh dear gods, she was trying to make small talk. If not for how comfortable this chair was, Delphini would think she was in hell. “The magical theory of sacrificial rituals.”

Voldemort perked up at that. Delphini knew that expression anywhere — it was the look that a prodigy got on their face when they were about to be a  _ huge fucking nerd _ . Gods help her.

"Is this for informational, practical, or experimental purposes?" Voldemort asked, confirming Delphini's nerd theory. "I've actually performed human sacrifice on multiple occasions in the past for various purposes. Perhaps I can provide some insight?"

Oh  _ hell _ no. "I'm sorry, but I need to go… somewhere else. Bye!"

And with that, she ran out of the room, leaving her nerdy, Dark Lady mother alone in the library. Delphini was capable of putting up with a lot of bullshit, but she drew the line at listening to her dorky, unhip, sixty-something year old mum nerd out about magical theory.

* * *

Voldemort stared at the door Delphini had just charged out of with a small frown. After a moment, she leaned back on the sofa and crossed her legs.

"Kids, Huh? What can you do?" She said to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N (Tendra):** The pizzeria scene was inspired by me trying an anchovy pizza for the first time, hence why it was part of Voldemort’s order. I love anchovies so much, and an anchovy pizza was just as delicious as I dreamed it would be.
> 
> Yes, Delphini is in the fic. You can blame Leyrann for that one.
> 
> The existence of blood magic rituals that allows same-sex partners to reproduce is a major point in all of my fics. In the Departureverse, such magic is highly regulated, but available, hence why same-sex relationships are not frowned upon by the bloodline oriented magical world. By contrast, in the Scrambledverse, blood magic is unilaterally banned in a large number of countries, resulting in a magical world that’s less accepting of same-sex relationships.
> 
> There’s a fair deal of foreshadowing in this chapter, and I’d love to hear some of your theories about what’s going on behind the scenes. If you’d like to discuss them with myself and other fans of my fics, you can join my Discord server at 6YwQewK, where you can get early access to chapters of all of my fics as well as commentary from yours truly.
> 
> **E/N (Xgenje):** Ok, 2 words… with a hyphen in them. Mama-Mort.
> 
> _Mic Drop_


	5. Close Enemies

"It's green." Voldemort said as she stared at the stone. "It's not supposed to be green."

"No, it's not." Barty replied. "I suppose that we can systematically eliminate snake components as possibilities for the refining process. We've really narrowed down the list of possibilities through the process of elimination. I think I can get a definitive answer in a day or two."

Voldemort stared at the stone. It was a brilliant lime green, almost the same colour as the killing curse. The light of the room reflected through it, making it look as though the core was filled with acid. If their previous examples were anything to go by, then that meant it probably  _ would _ shoot acid if she used it.

Not wanting to have her hand melted off if she tried to handle it, Voldemort picked it up with a metre long pair of tongs, and placed it in a crystal jar. She sealed the jar and then placed it on the same shelf as their fourteen other attempts at making the stone, each of which came out with unusual colours and properties. Not wanting to risk jostling any of the existing jars to make space, she instead opted to place it on the very end, next to the pink stone that reminded her of cherry blossom petals.

The next several minutes were spent cleaning up the carnage from the latest explosion. Every single stone had formed different patterns on the ground after the inevitable explosion. This time, the scorch marks had formed concentric rings outward from the initial blast. Voldemort had no idea how that worked, but hey, it was magic.

Alchemy was supposed to be the field of magic that was most grounded in logic, but that was something of a low bar. Alchemy was what one would get if a poet looked at the periodic table and decided that it needed more symbolism. It operated on a logic that was several levels removed from reality and sanity, and thus, Voldemort had no idea why the scorch marks patterns varied so wildly.

As they wrapped up their work, Barty sat back down at the desk. “I think I should be able to reverse engineer the process to determine the necessary primary catalyst now that we’ve eliminated so many possibilities.” He unrolled two feet of parchment across the table, on which the arithmantic equation for the Philosopher’s Stone was written. “It will take several hours of work, but I should have either an answer or an extremely narrow list by this evening.”

“I’m still surprised that the catalyst wasn’t serpentine in origin.” Voldemort mused. Snakes were a longstanding symbol of healing. Of the extremely small number of spells that could only be cast in parseltongue, all of them were healing spells. Even the muggles had continued to use the Rod of Asclepius as a symbol of medicine.

“Nah, while the healing symbolism was there, snakes lacked the symbolic meaning that would allow them to fuel the catalytic processes of the Stone. Like I said, just give me a few hours and I should have an answer.”

She nodded. “Alright, I suppose I should go take care of my business for the day. I have a meeting in…” She cast a Tempus charm. “…Ten minutes ago. Crap.”

"Well, at least you helped me clean up this time." Barty teased as he began working on the equation. "Usually you just leave once the fun part is done, leaving me to do all the work."

"I am a busy woman!" Voldemort pouted. "And speaking of which, I really need to get going."

"Alright, get going then. Say hi to your boyfriend for me."

Voldemort didn't justify that with a response and Blinked out of the room. Malfoy Manor was obnoxiously large — large enough that she couldn't cross the entire thing in a single Blink like she could a  _ sensibly sized _ abode. She didn't know who to blame for the manor's ostentatious size, but she was pretty sure it was because the Malfoys were French.

She Blinked directly on her throne, not bothering to announce herself before doing so. Everyone else in the room jumped but the person she was meeting with wasn't fazed at all. Then again, Fenrir Greyback had never batted an eye at any of her antics.

"Finally decided to grace us with your presence,  _ my lady _ ?" He said sarcastically.

"You should feel grateful to be graced with my presence. It's an honour reserved for a privileged few." She bit back.

"The arrogance of humans never ceases to amaze me." Fenrir snarled.

"Better to be an arrogant human than a savage beast."

The two glared at each other for a minute before Voldemort's composure cracked and she let out a snicker. Greyback burst into laughter a second later, and the two of them let it out for a while, to the alarm of every werewolf and Death Eater in the room. When her laughter had calmed enough, Voldemort leapt off of her throne and pulled Fenrir into a one-armed embrace.

“It’s good to see you again, Grey.”

He nodded. “You too, Voldie. It’s been one hell of a decade, hasn’t it?”

“It really has. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

He grinned at her. “All that time spent on the run will be worth it once we get back to business.”

Voldemort rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to wait a while longer to fulfill your bloodlust. We’re laying low for the time being. Why don’t we catch up over lunch?”

Lucius muttered something about “food-obsessed”, which earned him a sharp glare. She'd like to see  _ him _ go over a decade without eating anything and then try to restrain himself.

"Lucius will escort your companions to their accommodations." She glared at him. " _ Won't you, Lucius _ ?"

He nodded sheepishly, which was good enough for her.

"What are you in the mood for?" She asked.

"Sushi." Greyback replied without thinking. “It's been years since I’ve had good fish.”

“Sushi sounds great. Mind if I bring the kids along? I’m sure they’d appreciate the opportunity.”

He grinned. “Bellatrix’s sprog is alive? I assumed she’d been killed after the war’s end.”

“Thank you!” Voldemort said as she waved her arms in front of her torso. “I told her as much and she got all snippety with me!”

“I mean, isn’t that just how kids are at her age?” He asked. “I mean, I always got that impression…”

“I mean, neither of us were exactly normal kids, so I couldn’t say. I’ll go fetch Delphini and bring her here. Would you mind apparating her to the restaurant while I fetch Harry?”

“What? Oh, uh, yeah, I guess that’s fine. The usual place?”

“Of course. I’ll be back in a jiffy!” Voldemort exclaimed as she Blinked out of the room.

Fenrir seemed to have a moment of realisation as she was leaving. “Wait, when you say Harry-”

* * *

Delphini was not having a good day. 

She had heard stories about roosters crowing at the crack of dawn. What she didn’t know was the peacocks made even  _ more _ annoying noises early in the morning. Lucius Malfoy either didn’t ward the house against the obnoxious noises of those peafowl, or he deliberately didn’t ward the guest bedrooms just so he could rub in how well he slept when his guests woke up sleep deprived. Her money was on the second one. It seemed like the type of thing that prick would do.

Her day only got worse as Lucius’s idiot son tried to simper up to her in some pathetic attempt to get into her mother’s good graces. She could literally feel the sleaze emanating from him. Like, he was aware that she first met her mother  _ a week ago _ , right? How was befriending her supposed to curry favour with a woman she'd only just met?

Her mother was, of course, the third annoyance. She'd been constantly trying to "check up" on her for the past several days, offering unnecessary advice on Delphini's studies and hobbies. Delphini was hoping to get  _ some _ reading done, but any remaining hope of that was dashed when her mother did her obnoxious silent teleport into the room.

"Heya, Sport." She said, making Delphini physically cringe. She didn't know if Voldemort was trying too hard to be a good parent, or not trying hard enough. Regardless, the results were unpleasant and embarrassing.

"Please,  _ please _ , never ever call me that ever again." She all but begged.

"Fine." Voldemort pouted. “Are there any other nicknames you don’t like?”

Delphini grit her teeth. “You may call me Delphini, Delphi, or Delph. That’s  _ it _ .”

Voldemort laughed. “You really do take after Bellatrix, you know? She was much the same way, refusing to let me call her anything that wasn’t derived from her name.”

Delphini felt a faint sense of longing at the mention of her mum. Her  _ actual _ mum, not just the one who’d donated genetic material to the ritual that conceived her. “Will… will I be able to meet her soon?”

“Of course.” Voldemort replied. “There are some hurdles I need to overcome before I’ll feel confident about assaulting Azkaban, but I should be able to overcome them before the summer is over. While I’ve never been good at forming emotional connections to people, I do feel fondness for Bellatrix. I have no desire to see her languish in prison any longer than necessary.”

That was… actually reassuring to hear. Delphini really hadn’t been sure what to make of Voldemort at first. While she hadn’t inherited any of the Dark Lady’s famous skills in legilimency, Delphini  _ was _ an empath, and she could tell that Voldemort really did mean it when she said she was fond of Bellatrix. It was the first time she’d felt anything approaching a normal emotion from her.

“Anyways, that’s not what I came here to talk about. I’m having lunch with an old friend and was wondering if you’d like to come with us?”

Well, it would give her an excuse to get away from that Malfoy brat for a few hours… “What are you having?”

“Sushi.”

Fuck, that did sound good. Reading could wait. “Sure, I’ll go. Will you be apparating us?”

Voldemort shook her head. “No, Fenrir Greyback will be apparating you. I’ll be making a stop in Surrey to see if Harry would like to come along.”

…Fenrir Greyback. Fenrir Greyback, as in, the world’s most infamous werewolf who was wanted dead or alive in almost every country in the world.

Delphini rescinded her earlier feelings of sympathy towards Voldemort. This woman was not operating on any sort of normal thought process if this was her idea of a family outing. And who the hell is Harry? Surely she didn’t mean…

“Come on then, I’ll take you to the foyer.” Voldemort said, interrupting Delphini’s thought process as she grabbed her arm and ran them through a series of bizarrely disorienting teleports that left them in the manor's foyer.

"Aren't you excluded from the wards!?" Delphini snapped. "You could have just apparated us!"

Her mother just shrugged. "Apparition is pretty uncomfortable. I much prefer a series of Blinks if I don't have to cross large distances." She turned to the room's other occupant. "Fenrir Greyback, this is Delphini Riddle. I'm sure you remember her. Delphini, this is your godfather, Fenrir Greyback, infamous werewolf. I'll meet you two at the restaurant. Bye!"

And then Delphini was alone with one of the most wanted people in the world. "Just to check, all of the stuff about you being a pedophile is just propaganda, right?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, it's all propaganda. You don't think Voldie would leave you alone with me if it wasn't, right?"

"Honestly, I have no idea what goes through that woman's mind."

* * *

Petunia frowned when she heard a knock on the door. She was quite enjoying her lunch of bite-sized sandwiches that she could daintily eat while reading the latest women's magazines. Life was all about performance — one never knew when neighbours might be watching, after all.

But what kind of neighbour would she be if she left her door unanswered? With a small sigh and a gentle brush of her blouse to ensure she was free of any errant crumbs, she stood up and answered the door.

Ah. It was that woman again. She'd heard from her weekly meets with the neighbourhood gossips that an adult woman with dark hair had been meeting up with him on an almost daily basis, though she'd only met the woman when she came to take Harry out for lunch last week.

The woman was obviously… one of  _ Them _ . Thankfully, unlike the family of rambunctious redheads, this woman was sensible. She dressed like an ordinary person, often in business or business-casual outfits. Moreover, she had the common sense to use the front door instead of travelling through the… the fireplace!

The only sign that this woman was magical at all was her interest in Harry — Petunia had dissuaded the entire neighbourhood of that notion long ago — and the fact that her eyes were red. It was like someone had managed to take the colour of blood and concentrate it to an unnatural vibrance. Petunia did her best to avoid looking at them. They always felt like they were staring into her soul.

"I assume you're here for the boy again?" Petunia asked tersely.

The woman nodded. "I'm having lunch with a business associate who just returned from travelling abroad and was wondering if Harry would like to join us."

"What's your interest in the boy, anyways, Mrs…?"

The woman stared her in the eyes before answering. "Riddle. Just Miss Riddle, actually. I've never been married nor do I have any interest in doing so. Romantic entanglements always seemed like an unnecessary complication."

Oh, she was one of those "working women". Petunia did not approve of such frivolities, but tried to keep it off her face. "No first name?" She asked.

"I have one, but avoid using it by any means necessary. My mother died in childbirth and was completely delirious when it came to naming me, and the nuns and the orphanage abided by her request, even if I wish they hadn't. I stick with using my last name or a pseudonym whenever possible."

Oh, so not only was she a working woman, she was a working woman from a bad background. Well, she at least respected the woman for being able to make something of herself. Petunia knew firsthand how hard it was to claw your way up in the world.

"To answer your question about my interest, I'm trying to persuade Harry to take up an apprenticeship under me. His parents were some of the most talented people I ever met, and I'd love to see what their child can accomplish when he's put in the right environment."

Petunia's lips thinned. Of course it came down to Lily.  _ Everything _ always came down to Lily. It was Lily who got all the praise. It was Lily who painted a target on her own back by opposing that ‘Dark Lady’. It was Lily who drew the wrong sort of attention that got their parents killed by those freakish terrorists. It was Lily who married rich. It was Lily who got herself blown up in some freak sacrifice. It was Lily who invoked blood protections that got Petunia saddled with raising her son, ‘for his own safety’.

Petunia didn’t approve of the boy doing any of that freakish nonsense, but there was a potential silver lining to all of this. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'd be able to take custody of the boy if you did?" If he was going to do  _ it _ , he could at least keep it away from her and her family.

Miss Riddle looked pensive for a moment. "Well, I do think I'd be better suited to providing a conducive learning environment — there's only so much a magical child can accomplish in the Muggle world. There would be a lot of red tape involved in doing an adoption, but we  _ do _ share a blood relation, which would hopefully speed things up on the matter…"

That was good. The boy had never belonged here. He never would belong here. He should be among his own kind. Just… “You will take care of him, won’t you?”

Miss Riddle gave her a look between a gentle smile and a smirk. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, if you could please call him? My associate and my daughter are waiting for us to arrive.”

Petunia nodded, silently judging her for having a child out of wedlock. “Harry! Get down here and make sure you’re presentable! You’ve got a visitor!”

Riddle sighed and leaned against the doorway, appearing casual with an ease that Petunia envied. Deciding to change the subject, she asked the woman about a detail that had been bothering her.

“What happened to your eyes? I mean, you clearly know how to act presentable in normal society, so why not change the eyes to a normal colour, too?”

“Ritual scarring.” She replied disinterestedly. “My eyes were originally dark brown, but when I was young and foolish, I engaged in dangerous forms of magic because I was arrogant about the strength of my own abilities. I don’t bother hiding them because hiding magical scarring is extremely hard, and because I don’t actually mind how they look. There’s a certain intimidation factor to be had with them that I’ve found useful.”

Petunia couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t go out of their way to hide unsightly scars. For all the boy’s faults, he at least tried to keep that scar of his hidden under his fringe. Still, she knew that… people like her tended to have stranger eye colours. One of the people at Lily’s wedding had grey eyes. Not blue grey, either, but stone grey! Positively unnatural.

She heard the sound of footsteps descending the staircase only for them to stop halfway down. “Oh, um, hi.” He said.

“Hi, Harry.” Riddle replied. “Are you up for having lunch again?”

“I guess…” He said slowly. “What will we be having?”

“Sushi.”

Petunia tsked. Really,  _ foreign food _ . What was wrong with enjoying some simple and down to Earth English food?

“The problem is that it’s far too bland. I had enough flavourless, unseasoned food during the Great Depression and wartime rationing.” Riddle snarked. “Are you ready to go, Harry?”

That woman… did she just…?

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Let’s go.”

Petunia glared at them as Riddle grabbed his arm and they vanished with a loud crack. Petunia looked around to make sure none of the neighbours noticed anything off before she huffed and went back to the house. She hoped that that mind reading freak did take the boy off her hands so she’d never have to deal with any of this nonsense ever again.

* * *

“I am so glad I thought to read your aunt’s mind before giving her a name.” Voldemort commented as they reappeared in an empty back alley. “I almost introduced myself as ‘Miss De Mort’, which would not have gone well. Apparently, Dumbledore spoke with her about my return during the beginning of summer.”

"Um…" Harry didn't know what to do with that information.

"So, if your aunt's thoughts were anything to go by, I'm assuming that you've not been exposed to much foreign food?"

He was not going to address the fact that Voldemort was casually reading his aunt's mind. If anything, he pitied her for having to see Petunia's thoughts again. “Uh, no, I’ve never eaten much foreign food. The Dursleys periodically got curry, but it was so bland that it was almost unpalatable.”

“Right then. Really, I don’t understand why there are still people in this day and age who refuse to try new food, even when it’s so accessible… Do you want me to order for you? I know the menu better than you, so I can pick out some items that would be better for someone new. You’d be amazed how many people get hung up on the idea of raw fish.”

Harry couldn’t say he was  _ that _ big on the idea of eating raw fish, but it wasn’t like he’d tried it before. Unlike the Dursleys, he at least liked to try something once before deciding he didn’t like it. Some types of sushi were likely to be acquired tastes, though, so… “Sure, that sounds fine.”

“Alright then… Oh! There they are! Harry, this is Fenrir Greyback, infamous werewolf and a dear friend of mine from Hogwarts, and Delphini Riddle, my daughter.”

Harry took in their appearances. Fenrir had shaggy, dirty blonde hair, though with a lot of greying, and had a generous amount of stubble on his chin. He was tall, around the same height as Voldemort, and visibly muscular, even beneath the leather duster he was wearing. The most striking detail, though, was his amber eyes. That was not normal, even among werewolves.

Delphini, on the other hand, was standing around with a visibly disinterested look on her face. It really seemed as though she’d rather be anywhere else. She was maybe an inch or two shorter than Harry, though she was around a year younger than him, so that made sense. Her hair was obviously dyed, as there was no way that silver hair with blue tips was natural. At first glance, he wouldn’t have guessed she was related to Voldemort at all, though he could see some similarity in their faces once he started really looking. Her eyes, though, were an impossibly vibrant shade of purple that she must have inherited from her… well, her  _ other _ mother. She was dressed in all black — black combat boots, black jeans, and a black t-shirt with some sort of band logo on it. Harry literally could not read what it said, though — it was completely illegible.

“And I’m sure that you two recognise Harry Potter.” Voldemort continued. “He  _ is _ rather famous, after all.”

Yeah, this was definitely the weirdest thing Harry had ever done. Not even the headache he’d gotten from the time turner trip back in third year was as weird as having Lady Voldemort take him out for lunch with her daughter and childhood friend who also happened to be a werewolf.

Harry racked his brain for details, trying to remember where he’d heard the name Fenrir Greyback before. He’d been reading about the war just recently, and he was sure he knew that name from somewhere…

Fenrir Greyback, the… infamous werewolf.

Oh, wait.

_ That _ Fenrir Greyback.

The one who was notorious for biting children and was rumoured to be a pedophile.

Granted, Harry doubted that was true. Voldemort had mentioned that there was a lot of propaganda against them, and he doubted that she’d just leave her daughter alone with a known pedophile, childhood friend or not. Or maybe she would. Harry genuinely had no idea what to make of that woman most of the time.

As they entered the restaurant, Delphini moved beside him and hissed at him. Literally hissed.

" _ §Can you  _ **_please_ ** _ stop feeling so confused? It's incredibly distracting.§ _ "

" _ §What?§ _ Er, what?" He was briefly shocked at the parseltongue, but it made sense that she could speak it. He’d slipped into the language almost without realising it. Why did she want him to stop being confused? For that matter, how could she even tell that he was confused?

She groaned. “Ugh! Just forget I said anything.”

Yep. Harry was most definitely lost.

“I have a reservation for four under ‘De Mort’.” Voldemort told the host, who looked down at the bookings.

“Ah, yes, right on time, too. Your table will be ready momentarily.”

“You had a reservation?” Harry overheard Greyback whisper. “How?”

“Of course I didn’t have a reservation!” Voldemort whispered back. “I just confunded him a bit.”

“Seriously? ‘De Mort’? You really went all in with that fake name, didn’t you?” Delphini asked sarcastically.

“Well, if you’d had the misfortune of my birth name, then you’d go out of your way to avoid using it, too.”

“ _ §The parseltongue is pretty cool, though.§ _ ” Delphini hissed. “ _ §The intimidation factor alone is awesome.§ _ ”

Voldemort sighed. “ _ §Yes, the parseltongue is ‘cool’.§ _ ”

“ _ §I’ve never been able to do any parselmagic with it, though.§ _ ” Delphini pouted.

“Wait, there are spells you can cast in parseltongue?” Harry interjected. He wasn’t surprised that such things weren’t commonly known in Britain due to the stigma on the language, but it was an interesting idea.

“Hold on, it looks like our table is ready.” Voldemort interrupted.

The host approached them and gave a small bow. “Your table is ready, Miss De Mort. I hope you didn’t mind the delay.”

Harry followed the rest of the group and slid into one of the booth’s inner seats, with Voldemort across from him and Delphini to his right. Voldemort quickly flipped through her menu before shutting it and placing it on the table. Harry glanced through his menu and was immediately lost. Most of the words were just romanized Japanese, so he had no idea what most of the items even had in them. What the hell was ebi, anyways?

“To answer your question, Harry, yes, you can cast spells in parseltongue.” Voldemort explained. “It’s an ancient language, and therefore a viable choice as a spellcasting language, just as Latin, Old Chinese, and many other languages are. While most spells can be cast in a variety of languages, every language has several spells that can only be cast in it. For example, the impediment jinx can only be cast in Latin.”

“So there are some spells that can only be cast in parseltongue?” Harry asked. “What are they?”

“Healing spells of variable usefulness.” Voldemort said offhandedly. “There’s no real advantage to casting in parseltongue. The language may have magical properties when it comes to speaking with snakes, but none of those properties extend to spells cast with it. It’s overall useless, especially once one starts to learn silent casting.”

“Oh.” Well that was disappointing. Harry had been hoping that parseltongue would grant him some unique advantage in a fight.

“May I take your drink orders?” The waitress asked. Harry blinked. When had she gotten here?

“Yes, and I believe we’re ready to order our food, as well.” Voldemort said. “Delphini?”

“I’ll have the Salmon teriyaki with an ohitashi and an osuimono.” Delphini said as she handed the waitress her menu.

“I’ll have a hot sake, and the tekka don with a seaweed salad and a miso soup.” Greyback followed.

Voldemort glanced down at her menu briefly. “I’ll have a genmaicha, a salmon skin roll, an eel cucumber roll, a tuna nigiri, and a squid nigiri.”

“Um…” Harry was pretty sure he had a deer in the headlights expression right now.

Voldemort gave a small sigh. “Harry will have an alaska roll, a spicy grilled roll, and a shrimp and asparagus roll.”

He didn’t know what was in any of those — except the shrimp and asparagus roll, but that was obvious.

“So, Fenrir,” Voldemort said, turning towards Greyback. “How’s the werewolf situation been while I was out of commission?”

Greyback let out a huff. “Lots of ups and downs. In many ways, us being seen as a fringe movement has helped several legitimate movements get off the ground, but like other similar groups, they’re stuck trying to change the system from within.”

“Right, there were similar issues with creature-being rights groups in the UK when we were kids, although they were lesser in number back then.”

Harry tuned them out as their discussion delved further into politics. He didn’t understand half the things they were talking about, and he doubted he’d be interested even if he did.

“So, they’re being boring. What team do you support?” Delphini asked him.

“Um… team?” Harry asked. “Like, quidditch teams?”

“No, I mean baseball.” Delphini said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I mean quidditch, you dolt! What team do you support?”

“Um… I don’t really support any team in most instances, but if I had to pick a favourite, then I’d say it would be the Harpies.”

She huffed. “Leave it to a guy to pick the Harpies.”

“Hey, it’s not just because of that! I mean, yes, that is a factor, but I also really appreciate the coordination between the different parts of the team. Sure, they may never be the  _ best _ team in the league, but they consistently place towards the top. Not to mention that all three of the chasers on the Gryffindor quidditch team are huge supporters of the Harpies, so I’ve just sort of become a fan through exposure.”

“Aren’t all of the chasers on the Gryffindor team girls? What, do they all bat for the other team or something?”

Harry thought it over for a moment. “Um… I’m ninety percent certain that Katie swings both ways, though she might just enjoy teasing everyone, regardless of sex. I have no idea about Angelina, and I’ve barely ever seen Alicia interested in anything besides her quidditch career.”

Delphini nodded. “Oh, yeah, anyone trying to go pro usually does so at the complete expense of their social life. If the gossip around Durmstrang is to be believed, then the date that Viktor had for the Yule Ball is the first one he’s had in years, if ever.”

Harry mentally crossed “Professional Quidditch Player” off of his list of potential careers. It was fun, and he was good at it, but he really did enjoy having a certain amount of time to himself. “So, what about you? What team do you support?”

She shrugged. “I’m mostly interested in local leagues, since the international games tend to be too predictable for my taste. Like, Viktor is a good seeker, but he basically carried the entire Bulgarian team to the world cup last year. There was no way they stood a chance against the Irish team’s tight chaser formation, and I could have called the outcome of that match a week off.”

Wow. Delphini  _ really _ knew her stuff. “So, what’s your favourite team, then?”

“Oh, probably the Steenwijker Schutters. They’ve got the best pair of beaters in the Netherlands.”

Harry blinked. “Right, I forgot that you live in Europe. How come your accent is so British, then?”

She rolled her eyes. “Gran always insisted that I ‘practice my mother tongue’. She would get really pissy if my English ever lapsed while I was at Durmstrang.”

“What’s Durmstrang like, then?” He asked. “I’ve heard that they actually teach the Dark Arts over there…”

She shrugged. “Sort of, though it’s not as bad as you’re probably imagining. I mean, most of it is taught from a defensive standpoint. You can’t adequately defend yourself against something you don’t really understand, right? They make a point of not teaching us anything that can cause permanent damage unless you’re in the NEWT class and you get a license for it.”

Harry paused to process that. “You can get a license for using Dark Arts? How does that work?”

Delphini scowled. “Liberal application of veritaserum and potions designed to weaken occlumency defences, followed by a huge amount of invasive legilimency. It’s a pain in the arse, but they really want to make sure they don’t go about giving these sorts of things to the wrong people, and magic makes it much easier to create a false psychological profile. It’s a better system than the one used here, but it’s still got a lot of flaws. Regardless, I plan on applying for one, or at least I did before  _ someone _ resurrected herself and pulled me into her life.”

Voldemort just smirked. “If you can’t learn how to hide secrets while under the influence of anti-occluding drugs and veritaserum, then I’d say that you don’t really deserve that license.”

“That’s impossible!” Delphini groaned. “LIke, the whole point of the exam is so that people can’t hide things!”

“Impossibility is a challenge, not a limit. You’re a smart girl, Delphi, so I’m sure you can figure things out. Besides, you won’t have to keep my return secret for very long. I don’t expect the war to take longer than two years. Sure, the fighting may have stopped when I ‘died’, but all of the structures I need to ensure victory are still in place. A few key strikes, a few words of persuasion, and I can finally reforge Magical Britain in a new image.”

That was… harrowing to know, actually. “What sort of image would that be?” Harry asked.

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it, Harry? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the loo.”

And with that, Voldemort Blinked past Greyback into the aisle and walked towards the back of the restaurant.

Delphini groaned and sunk her face into her hands. “Why is she so  _ extra _ !?”

Greyback just laughed. “Your mum’s always been prone to melodrama. Believe it or not, she’s actually mellowed with age. You should have seen her back in her school days.”

“I think I’m good, thanks.” Delphini said brusquely. “I swear, I really hope that Bellatrix is a less overbearing parent than ‘Lady Voldemort’ is. You’d think someone feared across a good portion of the western world would be more of a hands-off parent.”

“She’s trying to avoid making the same missteps that her parents did.” He explained. “Her mother arguably cared about her, but she had lost the will to live by the time she gave birth, and chose to pass on rather than take care of her child. Whatever upbringing Merope could have offered wouldn’t have been much, but it would have been better than that orphanage. Her father is… a whole other issue. I was with Voldie on the one and only time she met her father, and it was… not a pretty affair. I won’t go into further details, though, as that’s really her story to tell, not mine.”

Delphini crossed her arms over her chest and hunched a bit. “…Fine. That doesn’t mean she’s not annoying, though.”

Greyback just laughed. “I can’t tell you want to think, kid. I’m just trying to give you some perspective.”

“Speaking of perspective,” Harry said, jumping into the conversation, “What can you tell me about Voldemort’s goals? She keeps mentioning propaganda against her, and she’ll sometimes tell me what she  _ doesn’t _ stand for, but she never tells me what she  _ does _ stand for.”

“Voldemort’s gotten a bit paranoid about that.” He said frankly. “And not without good reason. On two separate occasions, she brought people into the fold who did not agree with her goals and were prepared to take steps to oppose her. The first time, Voldie was able to contain the situation herself, but not without cost. The second time, though, only worked out because of sheer luck. He died as a result of his own actions mere days later.”

Okay, well, that did explain some of the caginess. “But she obviously  _ does _ want me to know.”

“Of course. She thinks that you will agree with her, but you need time to adapt to the idea. Let me ask you, Harry, what would you have done if Voldemort blabbed her true motivations to you right after she was resurrected?”

Harry thought it over. “I’d… I’d have told Dumbledore and Fudge.”

“Exactly. And while they wouldn’t have believed you, that information could have made its way to the ears of people who did, potentially undermining her movement. She’s giving you time to adjust. Moreover, she also thinks that you’ll be more likely to believe her if you draw the conclusion of your own accord.”

That was… weirdly reassuring, actually. “So, there’s nothing you can tell me, then?”

Greyback looked pensive for a moment. “You’re a smart kid, Harry. I’m sure you can put the pieces together. Do some research, and I don’t just mean reading the four or so books that cover the conflict. Ask around, and try to read between the lines.”

That was… surprisingly sound advice. Well, he could probably get some information out of Sirius and the Weasleys when he finally got away from the Dursleys. Whether or not he’d agree with Voldemort was still on the table, but anything beyond that would probably have to wait until he was at Hogwarts. Harry… really didn’t know that many people.

“Oh thank gods, our food is here.” Delphini said. "I'm starving."

Harry watched as several rolls of sushi were placed in front of him. Okay, the one with the shrimp tail sticking out of the end was probably the shrimp and asparagus roll. Was he supposed to eat the tail? He hoped removing it wouldn't be some kind of faux pas.

The one covered in sauce must have been the spicy grilled roll, as it was visibly browned. He wasn't sure what to make of it just from its appearance, but it smelled heavenly.

The alaska roll had some kind of fish and… avocado? He wasn't sure what that would taste like at all.

"I'm back." Voldemort said as she blinked back into her seat. "Just in time, too."

Voldemort grabbed her chopsticks and began digging into her food. Harry grabbed his, but just stared at them blankly. How was he supposed to…?

"I don't feel like watching you struggle to learn how to use chopsticks, so I'll teach you." Voldemort told him. "Look me in the eye. This might hurt a bit."

He did as she asked, but why would it-

Pain lanced through his head and foreign ideas inserted themselves into his mind. It hurt horribly, felt like his skull was going to explode from the sheer pressure filling it, and then it stopped as soon as it had begun.

"There, now you should know how to use chopsticks. You're welcome."

"What did you do?" Harry gasped.

Voldemort stared at him quizzically. "I taught you how to use chopsticks. Actually guiding you through the motions would have taken too long, so I just inserted my muscle memory of how to use them into your brain. Much faster."

Delphini groaned and slumped onto the table. “Can’t you do  _ anything _ normally?”

“There is no greater vice in this world than normalcy.” Voldemort explained. “Now do behave yourself. We are in public, after all.”

Delphini grumbled and began eating her spinach thing — Harry didn’t know what it was called — with as much aggression as it was possible to put into the consumption of spinach with chopsticks. He was honestly impressed with the effort she put into it.

Still, he had his own food waiting. He grabbed his chopsticks, pleasantly surprised to find that Voldemort’s painful method for teaching him how to use them worked perfectly. He tapped them together a few times with what felt like well-practiced ease before turning to his food.

“That one is better with some soy sauce.” Voldemort gestured towards the one with fish and avocado — the alaska roll? “The others already have sauces.”

Harry poured some of the sauce and dipped it in. He was savouring the surprisingly rich flavour when Voldemort asked him a question.

“What would you two say your favourite classes are?”

He was still chewing, so Delphini answered first. “I haven’t started the class yet, but I’ve really enjoyed my extracurricular study of ritual design.”

“A very solid choice that lends itself to numerous purposes.”

Harry swallowed his food. “Mine would be Defence.”

Voldemort smiled. “Yes, I do remember you being at the top during Quirrell’s class. I assume you’ve not lapsed in your studies if Peter’s tale of your patronus is to be believed.”

Well, even if he had, the extra studying he had to do for the tournament more than made up for it. “Durmstrang offers ritual theory classes?” He asked, changing the subject away from his own academics.

Delphini raised an eyebrow. “Hogwarts doesn’t? Rituals are the basis for all forms of high magic. Lots of the more advanced forms of healing are based in ritual.”

“Rituals are taught at Hogwarts.” Voldemort corrected. “But not as its own class. Rituals and enchanting are both covered together in Hogwarts’s ancient runes class.”

“Weird.”

Harry couldn’t hold in the snicker at Delphini’s deadpan response, which only got him a death glare in return.

“Academic standards at Hogwarts have fallen somewhat in recent years.” Voldemort elaborated. “And some of that is my fault. While the magical side of the Isles was mostly untouched by the war with Grindelwald, a large number of its citizens still travelled to the continent to fight against him. The population losses sustained from those conflicts was substantial, and given that I began a new war less than a generation later…” She shrugged. “The population simply isn’t big enough to have the necessary specialists needed to support a complete curriculum.”

"And yet you still want to wage war again." Harry said accusingly.

She shrugged again. “I can't say that I like it, but I refuse to back down and let the country continue to stagnate as it has for the past several centuries. Luckily, circumstances are heavily weighted in my favour this time. The Ministry is in outright denial about my return, and I already have plenty of loyal followers who are waiting to return to the fold. If all goes according to plan, then I’ll be able to secure victory with a few well-placed blows.”

He took a moment to absorb that information. “How?” He finally managed to ask. “I mean, the last war took years before, um, my mum ended it.”

“The Death Eaters have lost very little ground in the past ten years.” Voldemort explained as she ate another piece of sushi. “All of the key figures I worked to kill are still dead, the Ministry has done very little to restore the auror program, and a majority of my followers were able to escape any form of punishment by pleading Imperius. The few followers of mine who didn’t escape are all locked inside Azkaban prison, and I should be able to breach its defences and have them freed in less than a fortnight.”

Some part of Harry was immediately tempted to inform Dumbledore about those plans, but quickly quashed it. For one, who would he explain how he got the information? Just tell him Voldemort took him out for sushi? That would raise far too many questions. Besides which, he wasn’t sure that anyone deserved Azkaban from how Hagrid and Sirius had described it.

“And then I’ll finally get to meet Mum?” Delphini asked, hope just barely audible in her voice.

And in that response died any remaining desire to inform anyone about Voldemort’s plans. Fuck Azkaban. It could crumble into the sea for all he cared.

“Yes, you’ll finally get to meet Bellatrix.” Voldemort confirmed. “She’s likely to be in a rough state after so much dementor exposure, but I can assure you that I’ll do everything possible to get her back in top form.”

Harry finished off his first roll of sushi and moved onto the one that was covered in sauce. This one was the spicy grilled roll, right? He picked up a piece and popped it in his mouth and nearly let out a moan as the flavour hit his tongue. It was more decadent than anything he had ever tasted before. It was delicious!

Voldemort just smirked at his response. “I thought you’d like that one. It’s got a lot of umami in it.”

Harry took a moment to collect himself. In spite of the absurdity of going out to lunch with Voldemort, Voldemort’s daughter, and an infamous werewolf, he felt more grounded than he had in ages.

If Harry really was insane, then reality could go fuck itself. He was having a good time.

As that new sense of calm came over him, some tension seemed to bleed out of Delphini, too. “Thank gods. I was worried you’d never relax. Do you know how annoying it’s been feeling all of your stress this whole time?”

“Um… given that I was the one feeling it, I’d say yes?”

Voldemort snickered, and even Delphini couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. “Whatever. So, what’s Hogwarts like? Gran’s told me a lot of stories about it, but there’s no way they can all be true. Like, the kraken in the lake I can believe, but she tried to tell me that there’s a corridor in the dungeons that doesn’t have an end, which is just ridiculous, right?”

Harry smiled. “Well, actually…”

* * *

Voldemort Blinked back into the lab. “Lunch went well.” She told Barty, who was still hunched over the desk.

“Yeah? How’d Harry and Delphi get along?”

“Very well, actually. Delphini insisted that they swap addresses so they could owl each other. Granted, she did so with the justification that she’d ‘go insane if she didn’t have a normal person to talk to’, but I think it would be good for both of them. Delphini is obviously feeling constrained by the change in her living situation, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate having someone she can speak freely with. Someone besides Draco, that is. Harry, on the other hand, has been doubting his own sanity ever since my resurrection, and having someone of his own age that he can speak freely with will certainly help ground him. He actually seemed settled today, for the first time since I’ve seen him.”

Barty nodded in a manner that told her he was only half paying attention. She sighed and blinked into the chair next to him.

“So, how’s your day been, Barty?”

He pushed out from the desk and swivelled to face her. “I have news.”

Well that was ambiguous. “Good news or bad news?”

“Yes.”

She sighed and spun her chair around. She was so glad she’d picked up these swivel chairs at an office supply store. They were so much fun. “Lay it on me, Barty.”

Barty picked up his notes. “After several hours of calculations, checking, and re-checking, I have been able to determine with ninety-eight point two percent certainty that the prime reagent of the Philosopher’s Stone is Fae blood.”

Oh. “…Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N (Tendra):** One last chapter to take care of some loose ends before the plot gets moving in the next chapter. Most importantly, though, this chapter gave me a chance to decide what the characters would order at a sushi restaurant, which is the true test of character. Time for someone to make a clickbait quiz about “which Harry Potter character are you based on your usual sushi order?”
> 
> Fenrir wound up being the character who fills a role originally suggested by Bolshe. Namely, that of a friend from Voldemort’s schooldays who became infected with lycanthropy, was expelled, and ended up setting Voldemort on her current path. Few of the details are critically important, but there might be one or two flashbacks to those years.
> 
> Lots of people have been begging me to ship Harry and Delphini from the moment Delphini was introduced. SlenderGnome has written several omakes on my server about the two of them, Voldie, and Bellatrix. Truth be told, I have no idea how this fic’s pairing will go or what it will be. I don’t plan shit. I just have to start writing the characters together and see how it goes.
> 
> Delphini lives in the Netherlands just because I can rely on Leyrann and Foadar to give me information about the area and culture. I’ll probably be incorporating some minor details that they give me into her character.
> 
> The Philosopher’s Stone being made with fae blood is a worldbuilding detail bother from one of my (unpublished) original works, The Paradox of Fire. 
> 
> You can join my discord at 6YwQewK for updates on my writing schedule and early access to chapters for all of my fics
> 
>  **E/N (Foadar):** Steenwijk is a lovely if unremarkable Dutch town. Perfect to hide, say, a wizarding community in.


	6. Arresting Developments

_ Harry, _

_ You know, I think the Malfoys embody everything I hate about purebloods. There's an arrogance to them that's so intrinsic to them that they're completely blind to their own mediocrity. Like, Draco keeps trying to hit on me, but the best line he could come up with was that "our union would create a magically strong bloodline", which is just… ugh. _

_ Of course, given the state of “romance” over here, that’s hardly surprising. Did you know that arranged marriages still happen in magical Britain? While it’s not outlawed in Europe, it’s not really done, either. At least signing marriage contracts on behalf of someone else has been outlawed for over a century. It used to be that parents, guardians, or even distant ancestors could sign marriage contracts that people way down the line would have to deal with. What a nightmarish scenario that would be. _

_ Back to the Malfoys, though. Not only are they unbearable, their interior decoration is so gaudy. Not only is the manor far too big for any one family, it's full of gilding, marble pillars, trellises, and vaulted ceilings. It just screams "nouveau riche". _

_ On the bright side, Voldemort has mellowed out since we went to lunch. I think she's just satisfied that I'm talking to someone about my frustrations. She still pops in and acts as cringeworthy as ever, but it's less often and less unbearable. _

_ I really don't understand her. You'd think that being an empath would make it easier to understand people, but it really just makes it harder. You'd be amazed how many people don't understand their own emotions. Voldemort does feel emotions, but they're so bizarre. It's like they're being warped through a lens or something. I can identify the emotion she's feeling, buy it always feels… twisted? That sounds harsher than it really is, but I can't think of another word to describe it. _

_ Anyway, that's all the venting I wanted to do. I'm surrounded by ridiculous weirdos, and it's taking its toll on my sanity. Barty Crouch, Voldemort's head researcher, has been a fun conversational partner, at least. He's extremely quick witted (which makes sense, since he's a genius by both Muggle and magical standards) and is the only one besides Greyback whom I've seen tease Voldemort. On the downside, he has a completely shameless crush on her, which is just… ew. Thank gods she doesn't return the sentiment, or I'd have to barf every time I see them. _

_ Talk to you later. _

_ Delph _

* * *

_ Delphini (Delph? Delphi? I don't know which you prefer.) _

_ Yeah, I can confirm that the Malfoys are insufferable. Draco lacks any form of subtlety and is extremely used to getting his way. Did you know that he actually bought his way onto the school quidditch team? He had his daddy buy the whole team Nimbus 2001's just so he could secure the seeker position. He's not even a good seeker! I've seen him during pickup games and he makes a better chaser or keeper than seeker. Part of me suspects that he was just jealous that I got the role and had to have it for himself. _

_ I'm extremely sorry that you have to deal with him hitting on you, and I'm even more sorry that you have to listen to his poor excuses for pickup lines. His name-calling isn't any better. I'd probably find it funny if my friends and I weren't on the receiving ends of those insults on a regular basis. Then again, maybe I should just laugh at him the next time he tries to insult us. I wonder how red I can make his face get! _

_ I'm glad to hear that Voldemort is giving you the space you need. She really does mean well, but I don't think she actually understands people. Like, at all. You know that she actually came to me for advice on how she should interact with you? Ironically, I told her not to over-assert herself, so you’d probably have been driven mad if I hadn’t given her that advice! _

_ Voldemort mentioned Barty to me on a few occasions, though I don’t think she mentioned that he was her chief researcher. I’m glad to hear that you’ve found a verbal sparring partner, though I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive the man for his role in entering me into the Triwizard tournament. I had to outfly a dragon, for Merlin’s sake! _

_ Anyways, if Malfoy continues to give you problems, just let me know and I can provide you with some descriptions of the more embarrassing things that have happened to him over the years. For example, at the end of our third year, one of my friends slapped him so hard that he fell over. The fact that she’s muggleborn just made it all the sweeter. Feel free to lord that over him the next time he gets in your face. _

_ Hope to hear from you again soon. _

_ Harry _

* * *

Harry folded up the letter and gave it to Hedwig, who then took to the skies with a soft bark. He watched as she swooped over the nearby houses before vanishing from sight.

Delphini had been an… interesting penpal. Having someone to talk to was really helping him, and her irreverent attitude was honestly refreshing. She wasn’t afraid to tell someone off if they annoyed her. Harry had been on the receiving end of those tirades on two occasions, as Delphini didn’t want to read about his ‘angsty bullshit’.

Some of that attitude was born of her empathic abilities. Apparently, such skills were incredibly hard to ‘turn off’, so it was easier for her to just yell at people for having emotions that annoyed her. Harry made a note to learn about the mind arts once he was back at school. Between Voldemort knowing legilimency and Delphini being an empath, it seemed like a field that would be useful to have some background in.

Still, he’d sent off his letter for the day. He’d stopped bothering to contact Ron, Hermione, and Sirius by this point, as he was tired of basically receiving the same letters every time.

With that task out of the way, Harry left his room and slipped out of the house, not sparing any thoughts for Vernon or Petunia as he left. He was perfectly content with the new status quo in which they all ignored each other.

Harry stepped out into the hot summer air, feeling the warmth of the sun bringing feeling back into his body. Petunia insisted on keeping the house at 17°C, presumably to prevent Vernon from sweating his bollocks off every night. Dudley may have been improving his figure over the past year, but Vernon had made no such effort.

* * *

Barty was doing some analysis of the ward scheme surrounding Azkaban prison when Voldemort Blinked into the room, as she often did. Barty made a mental note to tease her about her aversion to doors at a later date.

“Okay, I think I’m as prepared as I can be.” Voldemort said as she laid out various pieces of equipment on the nearby table. “I don’t think I could  _ kill _ any fair folk with everything I have here, but I should at least be able to buy enough time to make an escape if things go south. Hopefully, I should be prepared for every eventuality.”

Barty raised his eyebrows as he looked over the gathered supplies. “Are you prepared for the fae to take offence when you meet with them armed to the teeth? I mean, cold iron may work well to injure them, but they  _ know _ that. The only thing worse than having to deal with a fae is having to deal with an offended fae.”

“That’s a good point…” Voldemort replied. “But… I already went through the trouble of getting them. Do you know how hard it is to get cold iron these days? It has to be made through purely muggle means to be magically desaturated enough to actually work against fair folk. No mages make weapons to those specifications, and most muggles prefer working with steel or forged iron. This stuff is hard to get, and it’s only good for one use.”

Barty sighed. “Voldemort, you really need to stop panicking about this.”

Irritation flashed across her features. “I am not-”

“You don’t want to die again.” Barty interrupted. “You’re used to being the most powerful person in the room, and you know that if things ever go bad, then you can power your way through. You’ve used your insane magical power and skill as a crutch in every situation. The last time you were outclassed, Lily Evans Potter killed you.”

Voldemort’s entire body was clenched in irritation. She made no attempt to rebuke him.

“I know that you’re going to be dealing with extremely powerful beings, but you can’t let that fuel your paranoia and go in there covered in every form of anti-faerie weaponry imaginable.”

She stared at him for a while longer before finally speaking up. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Take your time, Voldie.” He said as he casually as he could. Voldemort hated having her flaws pointed out, and would inevitably need time to get over it.

Voldemort Blinked out of the room, leaving him alone again. Barty turned back to the notes he was going over. He’d been able to identify enough weak points in the Azkaban ward system that he could take it down in five blows, but he was pretty sure he could get that number down to three with a bit more work…

* * *

Harry sat down in the park near Magnolia Crescent and began watching the neighbourhood. It was a hobby he’d gotten into when he was younger, watching the people around the neighbourhood to see what sort of useless things they were fretting about these days. People rarely noticed him when he did it, too. If not for the fact that he could still do it today, he might have assumed it was accidental magic.

Accidental magic stopped by the age of thirteen, though, so that was clearly impossible. Regardless, Harry wasn’t about to complain about being able to sit around and listen. He’d never mentioned it to Ron and Hermione, but he would periodically just sit under the invisibility cloak and listen to people as they walked by. It was a soothing activity, in its own weird way.

“Your aversion charms need work, Harry.” Voldemort said as she sat down with a huff.

Harry went wide eyed at the sight of an annoyed Dark Lady sitting next to him. That anger didn’t seem to be directed at him, but still…

“Seriously, this is decent work, but it won’t fool any mage, nor will it fool anyone who’s actively looking for you. I’d score this as an A at best.”

“Um…” Harry was so lost. “What are you talking about?”

"The aversion charms around this area." She said with a gesture. "They're good, for someone of your age, but they could use some work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't cast any spells. How could I have when I still have the Trace?"

Voldemort blinked. "You haven't removed the Trace from your wand? Hell,  _ Dumbledore _ hasn't removed the Trace from your wand?"

"Um… no?" Harry's confusion was only increasing. "Why would he do that? Isn't it illegal?"

She scoffed. "Of  _ course _ it's illegal, but that shouldn't stop you from doing it. I can't speak for your father, but your mother had the Trace removed from her wand by the time she was fourteen. Sirius and Pettigrew both did it during their fifth year, though I'm not sure about the other two Marauders. As for the why, you'd expect that Dumbledore would go to greater lengths to keep you protected given that he believes I'm still out to kill you."

That… was a surprisingly good point. "Can you remove the Trace from my wand?" Harry asked hopefully.

The corner of Voldemort's lip twitched into a smile for a brief moment. Harry was glad that her mood was improving from the brooding state she'd been in when she first arrived. "And give you a free shot at me? No thank you. In theory, I could remove the Trace from your wand. I did so at the age of fifteen, so I'm familiar with the process. Regardless, doing so here would essentially be alerting the Ministry that 'The Trace has been removed from Harry Potter's wand'. It's best done at Hogwarts, where the wards muddle the various tracking charms."

"Oh." Well that was disappointing.

"I'll tell you what, though. If you manage to get the Trace removed from your wand by Yule without any outside help, then I'll answer a question of your choosing. One guaranteed straight answer."

That was such a tempting offer that Harry didn't even have to think about it for more than a second. "Deal."

"Now, let's take a look at those aversion charms…" Voldemort pulled out her wand and slowly swept it through the air. Her brow furrowed. "Huh. How long have you known freeform magic?"

Harry was upfront this time. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

She sighed. "The two forms of magic that most people are familiar with are accidental magic and wanded, or 'focused' magic. Accidental magic is chaotic and unpredictable, fulfilling a powerful emotional need in unpredictable ways capable of causing collateral damage. It's the most versatile form of magic, capable of doing almost anything, but by its very nature, it cannot be controlled."

Harry had never actually heard someone explain magic having different structures. His attention was easily drawn into this explanation.

"Focused magic is ordered and structural. It causes predictable effects regardless of who casts it, and in a vast majority of cases, one's emotional state has little to no effect on the spell. It's the most limited form of magic, but it makes up for that by being comparatively easy to learn and easy to teach.

The thing you need to remember is that wands are over two millennia old, but humans have been able to use magic for much longer than that. Moreover, wands were prohibitively expensive until around fifteen hundred years ago, when advancements were made to the process. For aeons before that, humanity had been using magic through either rituals, or freeform casting.

Freeform magic is old magic, so old that it predates any known civilisation. It's not wild, like accidental magic, nor is it ordered, like a focused spell. It just is. It is magic, shaped by pure desire and made real through pure will. Very few people have any natural skill with it, and a decent chunk of the population can't learn any at all. One of my apprentices is an absolute genius at almost all forms of magic, but he's never been able to do freeform despite trying for years."

Harry took all of that in. "So you're telling me that I have been casting freeform aversion charms around myself whenever I people watch?"

Voldemort vanished from the bench beside him and reappeared standing in front of him. "Bingo!" She said before raising an eyebrow at him. "You know, you're just making yourself more desirable as a student the more I interact with you. I haven't met any prodigies naturally talented with freeform magic besides, well, myself."

He groaned. "Are you still on about that?"

"Of course. You don't think I'd be spending so much time with you if I didn't have an ulterior motive, did you? You are pleasant company, but I am a very busy woman. Making daily visits for over a month would be infeasible if I didn't have something to gain."

Harry glared at her. "And that 'something' is me."

Voldemort laughed. "Of course! Harry, you are an immensely talented person, but you've never been given an environment in which you can flourish — an environment I am more than willing to provide."

He wasn't going to deal with that right now. Voldemort's continued insistence on training him could be addressed later.

The two sat in silence for a while before Voldemort spoke up again.

"How are you able to be brave, Harry?"

Harry blinked. That question seemed to come out of nowhere. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean… I'm not brave, Harry. For decades, I've been the most powerful person in almost every situation. Even when my victory wasn't assured, like when I fought Dumbledore or your parents, I could always rely on being able to escape if I lost. How are you able to bring yourself to step into a situation where you don't know if you'll be able to come back?"

"…Are you complimenting me?"

“I do have a healthy amount of respect for you.” Voldemort said casually. “While you’ve done things that are reckless or foolish, you have an astounding ability to come out on top. You’ve repeatedly faced danger without any assurances of your own victory, or even your own safety. How… how are you able to do that?”

Harry stared quizzically at her. “Why are you asking?”

Voldemort sighed and shifted her position to better face Harry. “I have to do something dangerous.  _ Obscenely _ dangerous. So dangerous that I'm not sure I'll come back."

"You came back before. You even used my blood to do it."

"Barty and I had to modify a highly advanced reincarnation ritual while subverting the significant amount of protections around you and the Tournament. And I had to do that while recovering from a disincarnation induced fugue state. Frankly, I'm amazed it worked as well as it did. Besides, I was only able to come back because I still existed. I cannot say if the same will be true after my upcoming escapade."

Harry didn't even know where to begin with that. "What?"

"I need to get blood from a fae." Voldemort said with a sigh.

His brow furrowed. "Fae? Like the fair folk from medieval stories?"

"Essentially, yes. There are strict rules of protocol for interacting with them, rules that have been determined through generations of trial and error, but Fair Folk can be extremely capricious even at the best of times. And they are  _ extremely _ powerful."

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but… "How powerful?"

Voldemort gestured around the neighbourhood. "Consider the relationship humans have with their environment. This place was once forest, but through years of work and refining of techniques, we have begun to terraform our planet. An entire biome can be eradicated from an area and recreated elsewhere. California is full of agriculture despite most of the state being a natural desert. Humans can, through tools, determination, and time, completely change their environment."

That was a very… novel take on humanity. It wasn't wrong, but it wasn't something he'd heard before.

"Now imagine a creature whose relationship with reality parallels that of humanity and their environment. A creature that could, through sheer force of will, alter the state of what is. What  _ was _ . What  _ has always been _ . The notion of reality altering can be a bit alien to those not already familiar, but… when a fae wants you gone, they don't have to kill you. They can wipe you from existence, undoing everything, wiping your entire life from history. No one would remember you because you were never born. And that's just what one can do on their own. Hordes of fae focused on the same goal could radically alter history, retroactively subjugating our species before we have the capacity to fight back. Luckily for us, their relationships with each other are as capricious as they are with humans. That and they find us too ‘interesting’ to want us gone."

Harry hadn't given much thought to the Fae since joining the magical world. He'd read a few stories about them as a child, of course, but they weren't mentioned at all in any of the magical books he'd read. "Is it true that they can steal your names, too?"

"I'm not sure." Voldemort replied. "I do know that the Fae have an unusual relationship with names, but there's too much contradictory information for me to figure out what that relationship is. I'm not sure how such things would affect me, actually. It's not like I use my birth name, but if I don't use it, is it really mine?"

"Look on the bright side. If they do manage to steal your name, you'll never have to use it again. I mean, Riddle isn't a terrible surname, but I don't blame you for not wanting to be called-"

Her wand was in his face faster than he had time to process. "Don't say it." She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Right." Harry said. Well, that was definitely a stark reminder that she was still a Dark Lady, friendly demeanour aside. "The diary mentioned her hatred of the name, but I sort of assumed you'd grown out of it with, uh, the rest of your… more dramatic tendencies."

Voldemort rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I was an obnoxious little shit as a teenager. That's just part of growing up, though. Believe me, you'll look back on this part of your life as an adult and be extremely embarrassed about a lot of the stuff you did."

"Like having casual conversations with Lady Voldemort in a public park?"

She laughed good-naturedly. "Hopefully not that. My birth name is genuinely awful though."

"Yeah, it is pretty bad." Harry said sympathetically.

"I know that my mother was dying, but there are so many sensible names she could have given me, like Emily! Or Cecilia! Or Tamsin! Or even Tamelyn! Or  _ literally anything else! _ "

"So, if you prefer going by Voldemort, then why are people afraid of saying the name?" Harry asked.

Voldemort groaned. "It's a bit of a stupid story. So, to start with, it's worth noting that very few people know that Lady Voldemort and Miss Riddle are the same person. I took pains to ensure that the identities are very separate. The only people who know the truth are a few members of my inner circle, and Dumbledore. Dumbledore made a point of calling me by my birth name the first few times we met on the field of battle, but I dissuaded him of that notion. Violently."

"Um… I'm not sure if I want to know, but how did you do that?"

"By violently killing every spectator. After the second time I did that, he connected the dots and hasn't called me by my birth name since."

Harry didn't know what he expected. "That seems excessive. So how does this tie in to people being afraid of referring to you as Voldemort? Because it seems like that was the opposite of what you wanted."

"Ah, well, it's kind of stupid. Basically, word got around that I was killing anyone who said my birth name.  _ However _ , most people didn't know that I wasn't originally named Voldemort, and thus became afraid of saying that instead."

"That's…"

Voldemort shrugged. "Yeah, like I said, it was kind of stupid. It did technically work, though, as the few people who know my birth name certainly aren't spreading the info around."

Harry didn't have anything to add, so he just sat back and let her vent. She went on for some time, until a new voice cut her off.

"What the hell are you doing here, Potter? And who the hell is that?"

"Dudley." Harry greeted tersely. "I could just as easily ask what brings you here. Did you run out of primary schoolers to steal lunch money from?"

Dudley scoffs. "Very funny, Potter. Who is she, though? I've never seen her around before."

"I've been here almost every day for the past month and you never noticed me? You really must be as much of a dullard as Harry implied." Voldemort retorted.

"I've got better things to do than keep track of my freak cousin." Dudley said. "So who are you and what's your deal?"

"My name is Miss Riddle." She replied coolly. "I am a businesswomen interested in giving Harry an apprenticeship."

"Why would you want  _ him _ , though?"

"Because," Voldemort said as she stood up to her full height, towering over Dudley, "Harry has certain  _ talents _ that you lack."

Dudley's eyes went wide in fear. "O-oh, you mean…"

"Yes, I do mean." She said in a sibilant tone that reminded Harry of parseltongue. "So if you'd kindly-" she cut off abruptly.

"If, if I'd kindly what, ma'am?" Dudley asked hesitantly.

"Shut up. Harry, get your wand out. Something is coming."

Harry stood up and did as asked. "What kind of something?"

"I don't-" Voldemort began before a chill swept through all of them, despite the summer heat. "Dementors."

Clouds began to roll in, shrouding the area in darkness.

"What-what are you two doing?" Dudley asked, fear creeping into his voice. "Stop it!"

"Shut up and get behind us if you value your soul." Voldemort hissed.

"No! I won't let you threaten me!"

The cloaked figure of a dementor emerged from the shadows, and Dudley half ran, half stumbled behind them and then kept running. Harry didn’t bother to keep track — he was more focused on the threat in front of him.

"I'm going to try to negotiate with it." Voldemort said under her breath. "It recognises me. If it doesn't agree to keep my being here quiet, then I'll have to kill it."

"You can kill dementors!?" Harry whispered.

"Yes. Now, be quiet so I can talk with it."

Voldemort began making deep, guttural noises at the dementor, which responded by emitting deep resonances which felt like they made the whole world vibrate. This continued for a minute before Voldemort spoke in English once again.

"Shit."

"Didn't work?"

"Nope." Voldemort swished her wand in the shape of a star, then did an additional flourish to wave her wand in a circle. " _ Profligare Carcerem! _ "

She staggered back as a bolt of purple-white lightning shot out of her wand. The wand struck the dementor and formed a crackling cage around it as it flailed and struggled.

"I have not spent the past decade staying under the radar only to have my plan foiled by a loudmouth abomination! Be! GONE!"

The cage imploded, and with one final unearthly wail, the dementor was gone, leaving only a tattering cloak fluttering slowly to the ground. Voldemort collapsed to one knee, breathing deeply from exertion. It was only when the shock of seeing a dementor die wore off that Harry realised that the effects of dementor proximity were still persisting.

Voldemort seemed to realise that at the same time that he did, as she looked over her shoulder to face behind them. "Son of a bitch, there's another."

Harry turned to see a dementor cornering Dudley against a tree. Dudley seemed almost comatose.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry asked. "Destroy it!"

"That spell takes a lot out of me. I need a moment before I can cast it again."

Dammit, they didn't have a moment. As the dementor began to pull down its hood, Harry made a snap decision.

He levelled his wand at the dementor. Five swishes in the shape of a star. One clockwise flourish. " _ Profligare Carcerem! _ "

Harry understood why Voldemort staggered — that spell took more magic than anything he’d ever cast before. As the lightning connected with the dementor, he became acutely aware of it. It wanted freedom. It wanted to devour. It wanted revenge on him for this. It wanted to exist.

Harry forced his will up against the dementor's and slowly began crushing it. The dementor wailed and screeched in protest, but those quieted until it too was crushed beneath the imploding spell.

Harry only became aware that he was on the ground when Voldemort began shaking him.

"Harry! Wake up, dammit! We don't have much time!"

Harry slowly pushed himself upwards. "Wha…?"

"Good, you're conscious. I have to say, I'm impressed. Have you ever cast that spell before?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Should I have?"

Voldemort sighed. "Harry, you just cast an insanely advanced spell with no practice after seeing it one time."

Was that… really that impressive? Harry had done that all the time. It was easier when the stakes were higher, but still.

"Second, you're a much better person than I am. Had I been in your situation, I'd have just left him to die."

Harry didn't have anything to say to that. Voldemort pulled him up, though she was obviously feeling shaky on her legs, too.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. "I mean, you're supposed to be insanely powerful, but that spell took a lot out of you."

Voldemort guided Harry to the bench and sat down next to him. "Normally I'm much more powerful. Remember how I used self transfiguration to take on this appearance shortly after my resurrection? Well, there's a reason people don't usually do self transfiguration, let alone one as extensive as what I've done. It eats up a huge amount of my magic reserves, so I can't use nearly as much or as powerful magic as I'm used to."

"Funny. I'd have thought you'd value power above all else."

"I'd like to feel comfortable in my own body." She muttered. "I've been without one long enough."

An owl flew by and dropped an envelope in Harry's lap.

"You'd better read that quickly." Voldemort said.

Harry broke the wax seal and looked at the contained letter.

_ Dear Mister Potter, _

_ At seventeen minutes past three this afternoon, the Trace on your wand recorded you using a Banishing Cage spell. _

_ As this is your second violation of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under Section III, Subsection VIII, Paragraph 4 of the Treatise for Maintaining the International Statute of Secrecy in the British Isles. _

_ Aurors will be by momentarily to snap your wand. _

_ Have a nice day! _

_ Mafalda Hopkirk _

_ Office of Improper Use of Magic _

“Well that’s not  _ too _ bad…” Voldemort said as she read over his shoulder.

“Not too bad!” Harry exclaimed. “I’ve been expelled from school! They’re going to confiscate my wand!”

“There are alternatives to continue your education!” She retorted. “Besides, the real risk is-”

Another envelope was dropped in Harry’s lap.

“-that.”

Harry opened the envelope and read the new letter.

_ Dear Mister Potter, _

_ On further review of your case, it has come to the attention of the Ministry that you cast a Class IV Dark Art in an occupied muggle area. As such, you are hereby being charged with: _

_ –Violation of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery _

_ –Violation of the International Statute of Secrecy _

_ –Illegal use of a spell banned under the 1663 Reforms on the Use of Summoning Magic _

_ Aurors will be by shortly to arrest you until such time that you can be tried for the above crimes. Additional charges may be added depending on the analysis of the crime scene. _

_ Should you attempt to flee, you will be immediately sentenced guilty and an appropriate bounty will be placed on your head. _

_ Have a nice day! _

_ Mafalda Hopkirk _

_ Office of Improper Use of Magic _

“Shit. Harry, look me in the eye.”

“What?” Harry glanced up and the moment he made eye contact, found himself being pulled until he and Voldemort were standing alone in a dark grey expanse.

“To save you the trouble of asking, I am using mind magic to allow us to communicate directly. It is much more efficient than speaking which is very important because we  _ do not have much time _ . Are we clear?”

Harry nodded.

“Good. You have two choices in front of you. Choice one is that you join me right here and now. I will keep you safe from the Ministry and do everything I can to train you to be the greatest mage possible. Option two is you face the Ministry. You will be tried and charged for the crimes outlined in that letter, and face whatever consequences you end up with. No matter what choice you make, I will do all I can to keep you safe, but I cannot offer any guarantees should you face the Ministry. Choose quickly.”

Okay, wow, that was a lot to take in. Harry considered his choices. A guarantee of safety under Voldemort’s thumb, or a gamble with his freedom under the rule of law.

Harry wished he could say it was an easy decision. A month ago, it would have been. But after seeing Voldemort every day for a month, going out to lunch with her, meeting her daughter, and just generally talking, he felt far more conflicted than he was comfortable admitting. The one thing holding him back was Voldemort’s caginess about her goals. While he sure that she had her reasons for keeping them under wraps, her reluctance made him think it was something he wouldn’t approve of. He wasn’t comfortable putting himself in a position where he might have to compromise his morals.

“I think that I’ll take my chances with the Ministry.” Harry said.

Voldemort nodded. “So be it. I’ll do my best to have your back.”

Then she hugged him. It was weird and unnerving and surprisingly comfortable all at once.

“Take care. I’ll be in touch.”

Then Harry was back in the real world and Voldemort disappeared with a crack. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before several more cracks sounded through the area. Several people had their wands trained on him, and the one in charge started yelling at him.

“Wand on the ground and hands in the air! You’re under arrest!”

* * *

Harry had no shortage of experiences being manhandled in his life, most of it attributable to the Dursleys. That said, being manhandled by aurors as he was taken through the Ministry Atrium was probably one of the worst examples he’d experienced, though. He’d probably put it on par with Vernon grabbing him by the arm to shove him into the cupboard.

The Ministry Atrium was pretty though. Harry wished he wasn’t being horribly manhandled so he actually had time to appreciate it. The dark stone architecture was something to behold, though he could do without the gaudy gold statue.

Harry was honestly beginning to consider the idea that he should have taken Voldemort up on her offer. Morally compromising or not, he was sure it would have been less demeaning.

Thankfully, those thoughts were interrupted when a familiar voice stopped them.

“May I ask what you are doing with Mister Potter?” Dumbledore asked the aurors.

“Harry Potter has been charged with numerous crimes including the use of a Class IV Dark Art in an occupied area.” The lead auror told him. “He’s being transported to a holding cell until the date of his trial.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but maintained his otherwise placid expression. “Well, luckily for you, there’s no need for that. I’ll watch over Harry until the date of his trial.”

“You’re not the Chief Warlock anymore, Dumbledore. You have no right to-”

“I believe you’ll find that I do. I may not be Chief Warlock anymore, but I am still the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and minors attending Hogwarts who have been accused of a crime can be placed under house arrest under the supervision of a member of the faculty.”

“Mister Potter has been expelled for violating the Restriction of Underage Sorcery. He is no longer a student there.”

Having it said out loud stung, but Dumbledore didn’t seem perturbed. “As he has been charged with crimes relating to the incident in question, the expulsion has not been finalised. Mister Potter is still a student of Hogwarts for the time being.”

The auror scowled. “Fine, take him. His wand is staying in evidence, though, and we’ll be checking the treaties to make sure this is all above board. He better show up for his trial or there will be hell to pay!”

“Of course. Now, if you’d please remove the suppression cuffs so we can be on our way?”

With one final nasty look, the bindings keeping Harry’s hands behind his back were unlocked, and the suffocating presence that had been restricting Harry’s magic vanished.

“Um… Sir?” Harry asked as Dumbledore guided him to the floo.

“Not now Harry. We can speak shortly.”

Harry left the floo with his usual lack of grace, landing on the carpeted floor of the room. He was surprised to see that he was in Dumbledore’s office, though he wasn’t sure  _ why _ he should be surprised. Was this what Dumbledore meant by house arrest?

“Are you alright, Harry?” Dumbledore asked upon seeing Harry gracelessly lying in a heap on the floor.

“I’m fine, sir.” Harry said as he stood up and brushed off his clothes. It felt weird being at Hogwarts in muggle clothes, but there were more important things to focus on for now.

“I’m glad. Much as I’d like to hear all the details about what happened, I’m sure you’d prefer some time to cope. We’ll be moving to a secure location, so listen closely to what I am about to tell you.

“ _ The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. _ ”

There was a magical tingle to the words, but Harry couldn’t identify any effects of them. “What was…?”

“The fidelius charm.” Dumbledore replied. “Had I not told you myself, you’d have no way of knowing or finding the location. We moved here first to avoid any potential eavesdroppers learning sensitive information. We have no way of knowing who might be under Voldemort’s influence.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock. Over the past month, he’d sort of forgotten that most people knew Voldemort as the terror who murdered hundreds, not the weird, awkward woman who wanted a relationship with her teenage daughter and had a preoccupation with food. The idea of an insidious Dark Lady with ears everywhere was so bizarrely juxtaposed with the image he’d formed of her that he almost started laughing then and there.

Fortunately, Dumbledore misread his reaction. “I know it’s scary, but that’s the reality of our situation. Don’t worry, Harry. We are currently acting in whatever manner we can. Voldemort will not go unopposed.”

Harry wasn’t sure how much he cared about that at the moment. “Let’s just go, Professor.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very well then, if you’re sure. You know the address, and I’ll be right behind you.”

Another disorienting floo trip later, Harry was once again on the floor.

He heard Hermione’s voice come from a nearby room. “That must be Professor… Harry? Harry, what are you doing here?”

He pushed himself upright. “Well, there was a bit of an incident…”

* * *

Harry sighed in relief as he shut the door to the room he and Ron would be sharing. He’d shared his story at least three times, and was grateful for a chance to breathe. “What a day…”

“You’re telling me, mate.” Ron added. “I mean, really, dementors in that boring area? No way that can be coincidence. They were there for you, weren’t they?”

Harry realised that in the heat of the moment, he forgot to ask Voldemort why the dementors were there in the first place. “They must have been.”

Ron shuddered. “Still, I wonder how Voldemort will react now that this assassination attempt failed.”

Harry pushed himself upright on the bed. “What if it  _ wasn’t _ Voldemort?”

“Why wouldn’t it be her? I mean, who else could it be?”

Harry really doubted it was Voldemort. Yes, she  _ could _ have set this up as some sort of elaborate false flag operation, but that really didn’t seem to be her style. Besides, she seemed honestly surprised by the presence of dementors in Little Whinging. “It just… doesn’t seem like her style, you know?” He said. “She’s been all about dramatic confrontations and climactic showdowns. Sending a pair of dementors to do her dirty work just doesn’t seem like her.”

Ron pondered that for a moment. “You do have a point, but I can’t really think of anyone else who could. Voldemort is one of the only people known to be able to speak with dementors, so she’s the obvious culprit.”

“But the Ministry has some sort of leverage over them, right? Why else would they guard Azkaban?”

“The Ministry does have some way to control them, but they’ve always been really cagey about what exactly it is. Don’t want other people being able to do what they do, I reckon. I think only the Minister and some of the department heads are authorised to know how they do it.”

So the number of potential candidates was incredibly small  _ and _ incredibly powerful. “ _ Great _ .”

Ron shrugged. “Sorry, Harry, but there’s not much to be said about it. The Ministry is pretty secretive about dementors.”

Harry slumped back on his bed. He went to cast a  _ Tempus _ charm before remembering that he didn’t have a wand. This was going to suck.

A knock sounded on the door. “You two are decent, right? You’re not playing a game of strip exploding snap or anything, right?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tonks, we’re decent. And I have never played a game of strip exploding snap.”

The door was kicked open and an androgynous woman with bright pink hair tied up in a loose ponytail bun barged in. “Wow, you Gryffs really are sticks in the mud, aren’t you? We played strip exploding snap all the time in Hufflepuff. There were some  _ really _ fit guys and gals in Hufflepuff, let me tell you. Anyway, here’s your stuff, Harry. Nicked it from your relatives while they were fussing over your cousin.” She dropped all of his things at the foot of the bed with a resounding thud. “So, how are you holding up? Dementors are nasty things.”

Harry shrugged. “Well enough.”

Ron laughed. “I imagine it’s nothing compared to Voldemort herself, eh Tonks?”

Tonks shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

That grabbed Harry’s attention. “You’ve met her?”

“Ugh, yeah. She grabbed me from my doorstep once so she could give me a speech next to a seaside cliff, and on another occasion she broke into my flat and stole some of my bubblegum!”

Yeah, that sounded about right for Voldemort. She didn’t seem to have a good sense of boundaries.

“She keeps trying to recruit me, too.”

Harry barely resisted the urge to say ‘You too?’. 

“Maybe you should try hanging around her more.” Harry said, half joking, half serious. “You might warm up to her.”

Tonks shot him a glare. “No thank you. It’s bad enough that I have to keep hanging out around here because I can’t trust my flat’s security.”

“Don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy hanging out with us.” Ron said as he pulled out a comic book.

“Yeah, yeah.”

A light tapping sound came from the window, and Harry jumped out of his bed to let Hedwig in. She fluttered into the room and held out her leg to Harry. He eagerly grabbed the envelope off of her leg and tore it open.

“Who’s the letter from, Harry?” Tonks asked.

“A pen pal. She goes to Durmstrang. I met her last year during the tournament.”

“Oh, so it’s a girl, huh?” Ron said, his comic falling to the wayside. “What’s she like?”

“She’s, uh, nice?”

Ron’s grin grew wider. “‘Nice’, huh? Saw Cho wasn’t interested and started hitting it up with a Durmstrang girl?”

“Yes, she’s nice, and we’re just friends.”

“Yeah, yeah. So what’s her name?”

“Delphini. We’ve been exchanging letters for more of the summer. It was nice having someone to talk to over the summer, because unlike  _ some people _ , she kept me in the loop on what was going on in the magical world.”

Ron held his hands up in mock surrender. “Believe me, I’d have liked to, but the adults were having none of it. They kept screening any letters Hermione and I wanted to send and insisting that we edit them down. We figured getting a boring letter would be better than shutting you out completely.”

Harry grumbled to himself. He still wasn’t happy about it.

Tonks stood up. “Well, if you two will excuse me, I have actual business to attend to. Business that does not include nosing in on the potential love lives of fifteen year olds.”

“Your loss!” Ron called out as she shut the door.

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out the letter. Idiots.

* * *

“What the fuck do you mean there were fucking dementors!?” Delphini yelled at her mother. "Why the fuck were there dementors in some boring-arse muggle town that no one gives a shit about!?"

“Because someone wanted Harry silenced. He is either kissed and dies, or he defends himself and is tried in court. We’re currently facing the latter outcome. Rest assured, I have Lucius working to make sure he comes out fine regardless of the trial’s verdict, and I will personally intervene if things become too dire.”

“Yes, but  _ who _ ? Who the hell did this?”

Voldemort’s brow furrowed. “Is this amount of swearing normal for kids these days? On some level, I feel like I should be concerned about your language as a parent, but I also don’t want to overstep by imposing outdated cultural standards on you. Should I be concerned?”

Delphini groaned and rested her head in her hands. “Just answer my damn question.”

“I don’t know who did this. Someone close to or loyal to Fudge who took the slandering a little too far.”

“You’ll kill them, right?”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Just checking…” Delphini mumbled. “I’m going to go have some tea. Make sure it hurts when you do it, mum.”

Voldemort smiled. “Of course.”

She kept smiling even after Delphini left the room. That acknowledgement felt good.

“Aw, wasn’t that sweet.” Barty said from behind her.

“Shut the fuck up, Barty.”

Barty did not shut the fuck up. He just kept laughing.

Voldemort ignored him and went to steel herself for tomorrow. If this was going to be her last day on Earth, it helped to end it on a high note.

It was time to meet the Fae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N (Tendra):** Harry, Delphini, and Voldemort are all good influences on each other. It's adorable. I’ll make sure to include more hugs in the future.
> 
> Fair Folk have been given lots of different personifications throughout the years. I tend to be preferential to the “capricious demigods” interpretation, in which the only reason that they haven’t enslaved humanity is because of how boring that would be.
> 
> I’m sure many of you want to know Voldemort’s birth name. Too bad.
> 
> So, we’re finally getting into the actual plot of OotP. Most of the story until now has just been filler to help show the characters and establish their relationships to each other.
> 
> Get the most recent updates for my fics on discord at: 6YwQewK
> 
> **E/N (Xgenje):** MommyMort is best Mort, as the ‘hip’ kids say.
> 
> **E/N (Foadar):** A beta is never late, Tendra, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he is meant to. - In reference to being the last person to look this over. Finally getting into the meat of OotP is a great feat for the story however.


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